


The Evil Ones Are Never Idle (But Neither Are The Good)

by FarAwayInWonderland



Series: The Boy Who Would Be Death [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Creation Myth, Crossover, Gen, Master of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarAwayInWonderland/pseuds/FarAwayInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse had been averted - but it was only one move on the battle field. Behind the curtains old and new forces war over the future of Earth. Heaven is split between Raphael and Castiel; in Hell Crowley tries to consolidate his power; on Earth the Winchesters seem to be always one step behind everyone. And in Purgatory ancient evil rises anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There´s No Throne to this Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can be found on tumblr: [Far Away In Wonderland](http://realmofheavenlykings.tumblr.com/)

It had been a month since the Apocalypse had been prevented, and Samuel Winchester was ready to explode. The annoyance that had previously simmered beneath his exterior was ready to make its way out, probably in a spectacular shouting match with his brother. Who – not so coincidentally – was the reason why Sam was currently so angry. 

After Sam had nearly fallen into the Cage and was subsequently saved by the Master of Death, Dean would not let him out of his sight, as if he feared that Sam would be sucked into Hell if he stayed alone for even the shortest moment. At first, it wasn't that bad: Dean just asked after his welfare a lot more than he usually did and Sam didn't mind, but it worsened as time went on. Now, he couldn't even leave the room without Dean hovering over him. As much as Sam loved his brother, he also needed time for himself – and right now, Dean was in serious danger of being stabbed to death with a plastic fork. Dean was smothering him. 

"Dean, you may not believe it, but I am a grown man and I can manage my every-day life without your constant surveillance," Sam said, his annoyance in his voice barely concealed. Dean looked up from the beer he was nursing.

"Don´t know what you mean, Sammy," Dean shrugged.

"So you don't constantly watch over me and invade my privacy?" Sam asked incredulously.

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" Dean exclaimed. "I nearly lost you to the freakin' devil because we followed a plan with that YOU came up with – a plan I was against from the beginning – and if it wasn't for some primordial being that got bored and decided that it would help us, you would be imprisoned in the Cage with Douchebag One and Two for eternity. It was pure luck that we all survived. What if the next time we don't have the personification of Death playing for our team, huh? What if it's me that has to piece everything back together the next time you have some grand scheme going on, like when you went to Stanford?" At the end of his rant, Dean held the bottle so tightly that his knuckles were completely white, and he looked as if he was ready to jump from his sitting position.

Instantly, guilt gnawed at Sam. Dean was right. He was always the one who had to clean up his and dad´s messes. After all, he had all but raised Sam when their dad had been on hunts, and when Sam had left for Stanford, it had been Dean who had had to put up with their dad. Now, their father was dead, and Sam had nearly died as well. He could understand where Dean was coming from.

"Dean, please, I'm begging you," Sam pleaded, unable to completely concede defeat to his brother´s guilt-tripping. "Give me at least some room, because I´m going to go insane if you continue like this. So…please?" He tried his best abandoned-puppy look. Dean´s gaze immediately softened.

"I´ll try, Sammy," he said. They sat in silence for a while until Sam interrupted with a question.

"Have you heard from Gabriel or Cas?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing," Dean answered shortly, and Sam could see a brief look of hurt flash over his brother´s face obviously becausethe trench coat wearing angel had simply jumped ship. "Big guy gave Cas back his powers and suddenly everything they did to him is fine, and then he has to go to Heaven to bring back order. And Gabriel – I don't know or care." Sam recognised Dean's funky mood and did not pry further.

They hadn't heard from Harry either. The last anyone had heard of him was his rant before he dove after Sam and Adam – and after that, nothing. Sam didn't like it. He was thankful to the primordial entity for saving him and his half-brother, but his hunter's instincts all but screamed at him to search for more knowledge and to know his whereabouts so that he and his brothercould set up countermeasures.

Intellectually, Sam knew that this kind of thinking was futile – the guy was, after all, the Master of Death and he could probably finish them off with a thought from any corner of the universe – but a lifetime's worth of instincts couldn't simply be switched off. And with their uncanny Winchester luck, they would probably piss the guy off in the near future.

"Instead of sitting here and waiting for something to happen," Dean interrupted his inner monologue, "let´s find us some good old monster to gank. Bobby has some newspapers lying around." He reached for one and gave it to Sam.

"That sounds okay," Sam answered and began to flick through it.

* * *

This Heaven belonged to a priest who had died in 1734, and it mirrored what the people of this time had imagined Heaven to be: giant pillars supported a ceiling hanging so high that it was difficult to glimpse it. They were decorated with golden ivy that wrapped itself around the pillars, becoming thinner the higher it climbed. From above, golden light lit the room and made the décor glitter and glance. No matter in which direction you turned, the rows of columns disappeared in the distance. It was grand and awe-inspiring, and that was probably why Raphael had decided to use it as his headquarters.

"Castiel." The Archangel had taken the appearance of a strict-looking black woman in business attire, and she looked at Castiel in disdain and utter contempt.

"What do you want?" Castiel demanded. She had already killed him once and Castiel didn't doubt for a second that she would do it again if it suited her purpose. He wouldn't show Raphael even an ounce of respect.

"I am here to give you one last chance to swear fealty to me," Raphael announced, "For I am the new ruler of Heaven now that Michael has fallen into the Cage."

Castiel reeled back. Raphael planned to set herself up as the new ruler of Heaven. That went against everything Heaven stood for. Every angel had their God-given place in the hierarchy of the Heavenly Host, and if an angel perished, it was for the Father to decide who would replace him. For Raphael to grab after the command of the Host was blasphemy.

"Gabriel is still alive and free," Castiel countered.

"You are the only one who claims to have seen him. Where is he now, brother?" she mocked. "He disappeared again, like the coward he is, and now you are standing alone against me – an Archangel – and the majority of the Host." Raphael smirked. "Only those who follow your blasphemous teachings believe you. But Castiel," she continued, "you made many enemies when you chose those humans over your own brethren. So take this chance I am so generously handing to you to make amends."

"And then what?" Castiel asked. "What of the failed Apocalypse?"

"What of it?" Raphael demanded as she walked around Castiel, running one of her fingers over his shoulder. Castiel tensed. "I will free Lucifer and Michael from the Cage. They will fight and afterwards Paradise will come. It will happen, because it was prophesied. Because it was willed so by the Father himself." The last words she whispered in his ears so that Castiel felt her breath wafting over his skin.

"If the Father has willed it," Castiel began, "then why did the Master of Death prevent it?" Raphael stopped in her tracks and looked at him with a shocked expression. Then her face contorted into a mask of anger and she stepped forward so that her face was only a few centimetres away from Castiel's.

"You know of him?" she pressed between her teeth. "How?"

"Because he helped us to prevent the very Apocalypse that you wanted to happen," Castiel said to her face, sure that he had won the upper hand. "Say, are you really willing to go against the Vanquisher himself in your pointless quest? To set the Heavenly Host against a foe against whom they cannot prevail." Raphael took a step back, looking unsure: the aura of confidence that had surrounded her was completely gone. Castiel took advantage and pressed on.

"Father and Death are primordial. They created this universe together, and together they will destroy it when the time comes. Do you really want to meddle in the affairs of beings that are even beyond our own understanding? You cannot be that foolish." For a few moments it looked as if Raphael would simply disappear. But suddenly the frightened look dropped of her face and was replaced by a smirk.

"You nearly had me there, Castiel," she taunted, "but your reasoning has a flaw: Father is dead and the Master of Death is bound by the laws of balance to not interfere in the matters of free will in the way you describe. How ironic that what you revere above everything else will be your own downfall." Her smirk grew wider. "You have two days to decide whether you will kneel to me or if you want to die at my hands. Decide wisely." And with that, the Archangel vanished.

Castiel just stood there, feeling like everything he had fought for was crumbling down around him.

* * *

"Sometimes, I wonder where the angels got the impression that they are in some way superior to humanity," Death mused as he took a bite from the hotdog he was currently holding. He and Harry were sauntering through a fair somewhere in a nondescript town in the Middle West in the year 1986. To be fair, Harry had wanted to visit the world exhibition of 1889 in Paris because he got never tired of the unveiling of the Eiffel tower, but Death had insisted on this one for it had – in his words – "the best hotdogs; one of the only redeemable characteristics humanity still has". So an American fair it was.

"Their behaviour is the exact imitation of a human child´s temper tantrum. Daddy leaves the house and to get him back, they decide to destroy his most precious possession; when that doesn't work, they squabble about who has the right to be in charge," Death continued. "Have you heard what they call it now? 'Civil War' in Heaven," he chuckled, "between Castiel and Raphael. I have to admit that I am surprised that you do not interfere on the trench coat-wearing angel's behalf."

Harry, who was in the process of buying a caramelised apple from one of the stands, looked up. "I can´t," Harry simply said. "I cannot interfere in the matters of Heaven, Chuck's creation, as you know very well, exactly like he cannot interfere with my duties. The Apocalypse I could meddle with because it involved humanity and was set on Earth, which is bound to the rules of Free Will. But this fight Castiel has to fight on his own." 

"Besides, I did try to interfere once," Harry continued as he handed the money to the stand owner. "When Jesus – that stupidly naïve child – went into the desert for forty days. I tried to convince him that he should eat and drink something because he was so close to simply dying of dehydration, but he refused adamantly. When he began hallucinating because of the lack of sustenance, I'd had enough and simply forced him to drink. Colour me surprised when I read the Bible the first time and it mentioned that Jesus had been tempted by the Devil several times, but refused." Harry harrumphed. "I am nothing like Lucifer – who, by the way, had been imprisoned in the Cage at that time." He took a deep bite from the candied apple.

"That is certainly an interesting tale," Death commented with raised eyebrows.

"I considered changing the Winchesters' fate, you know," Harry continued as they walked along the stands. "I saw something of me in them. Slaves to a prophecy told long before their births, robbed of their childhoods, trained to be soldiers without knowing why. But then I thought that it wouldn't be worth the effort. Changing destiny, interfering with free will: it always comes back to you. If I had saved Dean and Samuel Winchester, Heaven and Hell would have tried harder at another point in the future, and some other humans would have had to carry that burden. And maybe they would have handled it worse." Harry shrugged.

"That is sound reasoning," Death said while he cleaned his hands with a white napkin. "Though you are above them in station, the Fate´s constant nagging when you interfere with them could drive even you insane."

Harry chuckled at the comparison. He still wondered what Chuck had thought when he created these three women to handle the matters of destiny. Aunt Petunia, on her bad days, had been more pleasant than those three. A clear example of 'beauty isn´t everything'.

Harry was so deep in thought that he noticed the child running towards them only when it had already bumped into his legs.

"Sorry, Sir," the boy mumbled after he had lifted himself up from the ground, and Harry found himself surprised to look into the face of a seven-year-old Dean Winchester.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Harry assured the boy. "After all, every one of us has been young once."  _Only that my youth is so far in the past that you cannot even measure it in time anymore_ , he added mentally. Harry looked to Death who just watched the pair of them in amusement. Harry´s eyes narrowed as a little smile crept on the entity´s face. That bloody wanker had known that Dean would be here! As if to confirm his suspicion Death´s smile grew wider.

"Are you here with someone?" Harry asked the boy, whose eyes narrowed at him at that line of questioning.

"My dad´s gonna be here real soon," he said, like the threat of John Winchester coming after them would scare these strangers away.

Still believing in the invincibility of his father, Harry mused. Behold the blessed ignorance of the youth.

"Dean!" a voice shouted. Harry looked up and saw John Winchester standing a few metres before them with a three-year-old Samuel Winchester in his arms. With a few strides, he was besides his son.

"What did I tell you about wandering off where I can´t see you?" John scolded.

"That I shouldn´t do it," Dean mumbled and hung his head in shame. John took Dean by his shoulder and led them away, not before he shot Harry and Death a glance fuelled with underlying suspicion.

* * *

"Castiel!" A deep voice boomed over the junkyard. "Exactly the man – or the angel – I wanted to see."

Castiel turned around only to see a demon standing behind him. The vessel he wore was of male gender and pudgy nature; his beard was neatly trimmed, and the man suited in a black suit and tie.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you are standing," Castiel threatened.

The demon just chuckled. "Doesn't it get boring to spy on your human pets while being invisible?" the demon deflected and pointed towards Dean, who laid under the hood of his car, working on it, and Samuel who sat on the terrace reading a book.

"Do they even know about the state of affairs upstairs?" the demon mocked. "Or do they truly think they have stopped the Apocalypse?"

In the blink of an eye, Castiel stood before the demon, his blade drawn and pointed at the man´s throat. "You will not tell them," Castiel pressed out through his teeth. He could not allow for Dean and Sam to know that all their efforts may have been in vain. They already had sacrificed so much due to Heaven´s machinations – themselves and their whole family – and he would not allow them to continue fighting and sacrificing everything for something that they shouldn't be part of. That was one of the last things Castiel had control over, and he would not relinquish it to an abomination from Hell.

"Easy there, tiger," the demon said and held his hands up in mock-surrender. "I have no plans to get squirrel and moose involved in this. They are unpredictable variables." 

"Then what do you want?" Castiel demanded, letting the blade pierce the demon´s skin.

"Name´s Crowley, and I came bearing a business proposition," the demon answered without showing any fear at his possible death by angel blade.

"No," Castiel flatly refused. "I make no deals with hellspawn."

"But we have common interests," Crowley continued without even responding to Castiel´s vocal refusal. "After your stunt with Lucifer and Michael, there's a power vacuum in both Heaven and Hell. It´s in our best interest to ensure that those are filled with someone who has no interest in restarting the Apocalypse."

"And that would be you in Hell's case, wouldn't it?" Castiel asked forcefully, though he reduced the pressure with which he held the blade at the demon´s throat. "Why would you be against the Apocalypse?"

"No humans means no business," Crowley answered bluntly. "And it isn´t as if Lucifer would treat us demons any better than he would humanity. Seeing that you and your small following will be slowly massacred by Raphael and her goons, do you really think you have the luxury of not hearing me out and killing me?"

The demon was right. As much as it pained him, Castiel drew back his sword and vanished it. The demon put a finger on the small wound and healed it.

"Much better," he commented. "Now, let´s talk business. We both have enemies that outnumber and overpower us. But…" He held up one of his fingers to stop Castiel from interrupting, "I have something that will ensure our victory…"

"That would be?" Castiel interrupted anyway and secretly enjoyed the annoyed look on Crowley´s face. 

"You know Purgatory and what happened to Eve?" Crowley asked.

"I have heard some rumours."

"The thing is," Crowley continued gleefully, “that dear Eve – before she got stuck in Purgatory – came up with a ritual that allows the practitioner to bind a being called 'Master of Death', which is, in my humble opinion, even better than what Lucifer did to Death."

Castiel eyes widened in shock. "You cannot be serious," he hissed. "Binding a primordial being!? That's impossible!"

"Au contraire, Castiel," Crowley grinned. "It is indeed possible. Eve bit from an apple of the Tree of Knowledge, which your dear father – another primordial being – created. Who but a primordial can bind another of his kind?"

"I will not help you," Castiel said. He had met the Master of Death and had witnessed his powers. It was foolish to think that any being in Heaven, Hell or on Earth could control something like that. And it was sacrilegious to even try to bind the power of Death: a power older than space and time itself. Nobody should mess with something that big. That the demon dared to propose something heretic like that was beyond Castiel´s imagination.

"Then do tell, Castiel," Crowley purred, "how you plan to prevent Raphael from achieving her ultimate goal? You have neither the knowledge, the power, nor the troops that she has at her disposal. If you decline my offer, the world will burn and you will be the one to blame."

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? As much as Castiel wanted to give in to his righteous fury, he simply couldn't. Day by day, the angels that stood by him were slaughtered by Raphael´s armies and he could do nothing. Slowly but surely, Raphael cemented her hold on Heaven, and if things continued at this pace it wouldn't be long until Lucifer and Michael rose again. Humanity's demise was at the edge of the horizon and drew slowly nearer. Castiel tried so hard, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to stay clean and pure, but this was war and he no longer had any choice.

He looked back. Dean no longer laid under the Impala but stood beside Samuel; both had a beverage in their hands. They looked content and smiled while they looked over the yard with no apparent worries troubling their minds. The front door opened and Bobby walked out, stepping beside the two hunters. He said something which made the two younger men laugh.

This was why he was fighting against Raphael. For free will, for humanity, for his friends…and for the made-up family that had been there for him when his real one had abandoned him.

Dean looked up and his gazed lingered where Castiel and the demon stood. And even though the angel rationally knew that the human could not see him, he felt as if Dean watched him. The hunter would not want him to throw his lot with the demon; Dean would tear down every wall that stood between him and his objective, no matter what or who he had to fight. Dean was righteous.

But Castiel was not Dean. He was a disgraced seraph who stood against the Heavenly Host, and this time, he had no Dean, no Samuel, and no Bobby to stand beside him.

Castiel turned away from Dean. Maybe one day – when everything was said and done – the hunter would forgive him.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned, Castiel prayed.

"Tell me more about this plan of yours," Castiel demanded, his voice devoid of any emotions.

"Before Eve was banished," Crowley began to explain, "she gave each of her alphas part of the ritual. We just have to find each of them and pry that knowledge from them…"

An angel and a demon met on a salvage yard operated by a human. It sounded like a bad joke. But it wasn´t.

* * *

The black imprints of angel wings were all over the ground. They framed lifeless corpses, devoid of any grace. This heaven belonged to a little girl.  Its once green and lush meadows were charred black and the colourful flowers that could have been found everywhere had been annihilated completely. The little stream which water had been clear like crystal now ran with water despoiled with blood and dirt.

She had been a psychic that little girl, able to heal nearly any ailment. She did not stop when the Inquisition came to her little village and that had been her undoing. While those she had helped cheered, she burnt on the stake.

Gabriel had personally ensured that this little girl went to Heaven. Now, he stood here and watched another atrocity happen.

He wanted to help. But every time he tried to move forward and to stop the fighting, he just couldn't do it. This was the reason why he had left Heaven in the first place: the infighting, the death, the fanaticism. How could he face that again when the first time had been enough to force him out of his own home? It was cowardly, and many would curse his very name for him not taking action. But Gabriel was so weary and tired of seeing his siblings tearing each other apart for nothing. It hadn't resulted in anything good the first time, so why should the second time be any different?

A small part of him urged him to help Castiel. The young seraph was completely out of his depth and had no chance of winning this fight against a more experienced and powerful Raphael. But Gabriel put this smart part down ruthlessly. Why should he always be the one that has to right everything? Why should he constantly side with the underdogs only for it to backfire against him? He was done with helping.

Gabriel vanished and tried so hard to ignore that persistent feeling of shame.

* * *

One of the perks of being so powerful was that Harry could feel when magical events occurred near him. At first he wasn't that interested in the young boy who had just sold his soul. After all, that was a somehow daily occurrence, and he had stopped paying attention to it long ago. But when the tendrils of magic that would bind the soul to its new owner tethered themselves to an angel, his interest was roused. And when said angel handed over a powerful magical artefact, Harry decided to investigate, since he was bored anyway. Death had ditched him to coordinate the Reapers, and seeing that Gabriel didn't want to be found (he couldn't hide from Harry, but the man accepted Gabriel´s silent demand for privacy) there was no one to hang around with. So Harry followed the angel´s signature into a grand mansion where he veiled himself from any living beings' perception.

The angel was sitting in a rose-red chair in front of a burning fireplace. From what Harry could see, he wore only the finest materials – silk, Kashmir, and leather – in very body-fitting forms. (The deep V-neck was something Harry could have lived without ever seeing.) The angel sipped from a crystal wine glass while the crackling fire made light and shadow dance over his face.

"I did not know that angels were into souls," Harry commented as he unveiled himself and conjured another chair next to the fireplace. To the angel´s credit, he didn't even flinch when Harry suddenly appeared, and neither did he try to flee or grab for his angel blade.

"It's a necessity when you're cut off from the Heavenly Host," the angel replied, looking over Harry. "You are neither an Archangel nor a demon, but you are powerful enough to follow me and get through all the wards I erected without detection," the angel continued. "Something says to me that I shouldn't anger or fight you. I would say it's my human common sense, but I'm not human, so maybe it´s divine intervention?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just Harry," he answered the unsaid question. 

"Balthazar," the angel introduced himself.

"So," Harry began, "what does an angel do outside of Heaven in this time of turmoil?"

"Not die," Balthazar drawled. "You seem to me like the kind of person – or being – that always knows what's going on. Tell me, if you were me, would you go back to Heaven?"

"That depends on the set of values I would adhere to, if I were you," Harry answered without missing a beat.

"Ah, the words of a true diplomat," Balthazar said. "To leave Heaven was the best decision I have made in my, dare I say, immeasurably long life."

Harry suppressed a snort. This angel was arrogant, seeing as there were a great number of beings far older than he.

"Heaven was and is not the paradise everyone thinks it is," Balthazar continued in a more serious voice. "The higher-ups make us emotionless drones who just follow every order they give us. No questions allowed; no 'emotions', either. And if you dare to do so, you get…re-educated, which, here, is just a euphemism for 'torturing you until you break and give in'. I should know: a comrade of mine – Castiel – has undergone it many times, and every time his true self receded further. I fled because I saw my chance at getting out of that system, and I won´t go back."

"For someone who is so sure about his decisions, you get rather defensive of them rather fast," Harry commented casually. "I do not judge you, since I adhere to a code of non-involvement myself." He paused for a moment and silence penetrated the room. "But you know that sooner or later someone will notice those powerful objects you exchange for souls. And they will try to trace it back to you."

"I'll be long gone by then," Balthazar said haughtily and took another sip from his wine glass.

Harry recognised a lost cause when he saw one, so he continued with another topic. "What was that object you gave those boy?" he asked.

"The Staff of Moses," Balthazar answered. "Or at least a part of it." He grinned.

"How did you attain such a powerful object?" Harry wanted to know. Heaven´s armoury´s protections were powerful and manifold, and its overseer – some angel named Virgil – was said to be well versed in the countless styles of fighting, be they human, angelic, or demonic in nature. Harry couldn't image that a low-level seraph like Balthazar would be able to simply waltz in and take what he wanted.

"After Castiel and his merry band of trained monkeys stopped the Apocalypse, it was pure chaos," Balthazar began to explain gleefully. "The Virtues were in panic because they were no longer able to see the fabric of destiny, and nearly every order suddenly became meaningless. It wasn´t difficult to sneak into the armoury and take some of the weapons." He rubbed his hands together which gave him the overall impression of a child that just saw one of his pranks pulled off successfully.

"As much fun as our current conversation is to me," Balthazar drawled on, "I have some more merchandise to sell. Would you mind…?" He stopped and a look of intensive thinking took over his face. It only lasted a few moments and then it was replaced by the angel´s trademark smirk.

"I have a business proposition for you," Balthazar said. "Interested?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You were about to go," he commented. "And now you want to bargain with me?"

"I changed my mind," Balthazar simply said. "So, are you in?"

"First I want to hear what you have to say," Harry replied, "If it should prove itself interesting I may be inclined to agree." And so Balthazar began to explain. 

After the angel and the primordial had finished, Balthazar shot him a grateful smile and vanished from sight. Harry let a few moments pass and then followed suit, but not before vowing to himself to keep an eye on the angel. He had that feeling – the same one as in his former mortal life when he had suspected that someone was out to murder him – that watching Balthazar would prove itself useful in the near future.

* * *

Dean had seen many freakish things in his life. It came with being a hunter since monsters, demons, and witches didn't adhere to common courtesy or good manners when they killed their victims. But a police officer suddenly dropping dead and freakin' locusts crawling out of holes in his head was something Dean could have lived without. Nevertheless, after they connected the victims to biblical plagues of old Egypt, he and Sammy were back in their motel room, and Dean was trying to contact Cas.

"He won´t come," Sam commented from where he was hunched over his laptop, furiously typing to get at every piece of information that the internet had to offer about the seven plagues. "I tried, several times even. Nothing."

"Well, let´s give it a shot," Dean said. He hadn't prayed to Castiel since the angel had left them. He was still hurt that, after all they had gone through together, Cas had chosen the angels – who had tried to kill the seraph times – over him, Sammy, and Bobby. Since God had miraculously given him back and even upgraded his powers, Castiel now thought that he had some kind of obligation to go back to Heaven and play sheriff there. Over the few months that they had spent together, fighting against impossible odds to stop the Apocalypse, the nerdy trench coat-wearing angel had carved himself a place in Dean´s little makeshift family – a feat not many achieved due to Dean's inherent mistrust of outsiders. To see it disregarded like that had hurt. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here."

"You're an idiot," Sam said and stood up from his seat to step into the middle of the room as he observed Dean.

"Stay positive!" Dean gave him a thumb up.

"Oh, I am positive," Sam laughed.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean shouted at the ceiling. "Don't be a dick. We´ve got ourselves a…plague-like situation down here and…do you…do you copy?"

"Like I said," Sam cleared his throat, "that son of a bitch doesn't answer…he´s right behind me, isn´t he?" Dean had to suppress a snicker when he saw Sam´s panicked expression as he came to the realisation that, yes, the angel was indeed standing behind him.

"Hello," Cas said.

"Hello?" Sam repeated incredulously.

"Y-yes?" Cas answered with a confused expression. "Uh, that is still the term?"

"I spent all the time trying to get through to you!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean calls once and now it´s 'Hello'?"

"Yes," Cas simply stated.

"So what," Sam scratched his head, "you – you like him better or something?"

"Dean and I share a more profound bond," Castiel said, then turned to Dean. "I wasn't gonna mention it."

That was such a typical Castiel-thing to say that Dean had to suppress the urge to facepalm. "So if Sam prays, you won´t come, but if I do you will?" he asked instead.

"You think I became because you called?" Castiel walked over to where their research was spread out. "I came because of this." Wow, that stung. Dean would have never thought that their friendship was something the angel could disregard so easily. Did Cas even see them as friends anymore, or were they nothing but a means to an end? How could he so casually sweep aside what was one of the most important friendships in his life? Dean tried to mask the hurt he was feeling, but seeing the worried look on Sam´s face, he didn't seem successful at it.

"Oh well, it´s nice to know what matters," he said sarcastically.

"It does help one to focus," Cas answered, completely oblivious to the tension he had just created.

"Wait!" Sam interrupted. "So you and the Halo Patrol aren´t the cause of these killings?" Cas looked offended that Sam would even dare to suspect his siblings, but to Dean it didn't sound so farfetched. He wouldn't put it past those featherheads to go on a human-killing-spree just for giggles.

"No," Cas pressed out, "but they were committed with one of our weapons. There´s only one thing that could have bought this into existence. You call it the Staff of Moses."

"The Staff?!" Sam exclaimed disbelievingly.

"It was used in a display of dominance against the Egyptians, as I recall," Cas explained as he picked up the jar of locusts.

"Yeah. That one made the papers," Dean scoffed.

"But I thought the staff turned, like, a – a river into blood, not a dude," Sam said, his eyes still wide in disbelief. 

"The weapon isn´t used at full capacity," Cas continued explaining. "I think we can rule out Moses as a suspect." Dean snorted. When Cas threw him an annoyed glare, he sobered up.

"Okay," Dean said, "but what is Chuck Heston´s disco stick doing down here anyway? I mean, don't you guys put away your toys?"

"Before the Apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable," Cas sighed. "The staff was safely contained. It´s been chaos up there since the war ended. In that confusion, a number of…powerful weapons were…stolen."

"Wait, wait! You´re saying your nukes are loose?"

"I´m afraid so," Cas admitted. "But you have stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this." He indicated to the jar of locusts. "I need your help."

"That´s rich. Really," Sam scoffed, and Dean had to agree with him. No word from Cas for nearly half a year, and now, when Cas needed them to do the work for Heaven, he appeared and demanded it from them. Dean felt used.

"Sam, Dean," Cas said and tossed the jar at Sam, "my 'people skills'" – he performed air quotes – "are 'rusty'. Pardon me, but I have spent the last months as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. But believe me, you do not want that weapon down here. Help me find it. Or more people will die."

"Okay, okay," Dean appeased the enraged angel. "We´ll help you."

* * *

A few hours and one wrongfully suspected man later, Sam, Dean, and Cas were back at their hotel room with the boy who had sold his soul to an angel in order to avenge his brother´s death. Cas had read the boy´s soul, something which Dean had been adamantly against, seeing that it was highly painful and intrusive. But he had been outvoted by both Cas and Sam who had only one goal in mind: finding the angel that bought souls with the weapons of Heaven.

"Did you get a name?" Sam wanted to know.

"I thought he died in the war," Cas said in a broken voice.

"What, he – he was a friend or something?" Dean shot Sam a warning look. He couldn't imagine what Cas must feel now that he knew that a friend he had previously thought to be dead was still alive. Dean would be reeling if he suddenly got the information that someone dear to him weren't as dead as he thought them to be.

"A good friend," Cas sighed.

"Yeah, well, your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon," Dean stated bluntly. He may have sympathised with Cas, but he was still angry and it didn't change the facts.

"Balthazar," Castiel whispered. "I wonder…."

Before he could finish, a man appeared in the middle of the room. Dean took one look at the business attire and the emotionless face and deduced that it was an angel. And, damn it, the angel blade he had nicked so long ago was in the duffel back on the other side of the bed. There was no way he would make it there without the angel intercepting him. 

"Balthazar. Thanks, Castiel," the angel mocked. "We´ll make good use of the name."

The angel suddenly lunged forward, angel blade in one hand and tried to bury it in Cas. But Cas was just as fast as his opponent and parried the strike with his own sword.

"And by the way," the angel taunted, "Raphael says hello." Then he vanished and reappeared behind Cas, trying again to plunge his blade into the angel; with inhuman speed, Cas turned around and blocked the strike. A high screeching noise rung out where the two swords clashed against each other. One fast movement from Castiel – too fast for Dean to properly track with his eyes –and both blades clattered to the ground. As fast as he could, Dean lunged forward and took them in order to prevent the hostile angel from regaining possession of one of them.

Said angel had vanished again and now stood in front of the window. He opened his mouth – probably to taunt Cas further – but before he could utter another syllable, Cas tackled him and both angels crashed through the window, glass shattering around them.

Both Sam and Dean ran to the window and looked down onto the street. The hostile angel was nowhere in sight, and Cas stood beside a completely-demolished car, looking to the world like he hadn't just sprung out of a window.

Suddenly, Dean felt very glad that he had parked his Baby a few streets away, even though he had bitched constantly about the long walk to the hotel since then. In hindsight, it had been a very lucky decision.

On the other hand, they now knew that Raphael was after the weapons as well and that this Balthazar bloke did not act on her orders. Now they had to be faster than her in securing those, otherwise it would spell very bad for Cas – and for humanity at whole.

* * *

The forest was blood-curdling. The trees looked dead, their bark a sickly shade of grey and their branches – thin and looking like the bones of the dead– stretched towards the night sky as though they grabbed after something beyond their reach. The pattern on their bark looked like faces suffering pain beyond imagination and begging the onlooker for salvation. But in this forest, salvation was offered by no one.

If it were a story, then monsters would inhabit this forest. They would lure in the innocent, feast upon their flesh, and cherish their agony. And indeed, monsters did live in the forest, but today they had fled, for something far worse treaded the grounds.

The girl was slender and dressed in a white dress so clean it appeared to be glowing in the dark. She was barefoot, and her feet left tiny imprints on the soil. Now and then, a gust of wind would rise up and play with her dark hair – black as a raven´s feathers and smooth like the finest silk. Behind full lashes were big eyes that were coloured so dark a blue that they nearly appeared black, and together with the girl´s porcelain skin, they gave her a doll-like appearance.

_Dark, it´s oh so dark,_

_Fear comes creeping,_

_The nightmare's 'bout to start._

_Steps, it´s him again,_

_He´s got that hunger, she can´t comprehend._

_Child, she´s just a child,_

_But that don't stop,_

_His mind from running wild._

_Hush now, you need to hush now,_

_He whispers "look who´s coming now."_

The girl sung eerily as she danced around the trees. The girl, the embodiment of beauty and innocence, singing about human depravity with a smile on her face and sick glee in her eyes – the scene was inherently evil.

" _They wail, they wither, they cry_ ," she continued in singsong. " _They suffer, they break and then they die."_ She giggled and let herself fall on the ground. She looked up to the starless sky that always stayed the same since she had been imprisoned many millennia ago. How boring.

"Another fit of madness, Eve."

The girl didn't even look up to where the thing – masking itself as a human male – had appeared from behind a tree.

"We had hoped to find you in a state more fitting for conversation."

"What do you want, Leviathan," Eve bit out, her good mood evaporating into nothingness. "Have I not proven countless times that I am no one to be trifled with? You may have been the first of God´s creation, but here in Purgatory you aren't nearly the most powerful one. Are you another arrogant fool that I will simply rip apart?"

She rose from the ground gracefully and stood before Leviathan. Even though she was at least thirty centimetres smaller than the other being, the aura of power and wickedness she exuded made it clear that this was a meeting of equals.

"We come bearing a message," Leviathan said. "A very interesting one, too."

"Why would you lower yourself to bring me a message?" Eve asked, suspicious. "Unless there is something in it for you, too."

Leviathan gave her a smile that was pure teeth. "It gladdens Us that this dreary place had no deleterious effect on your sharp mind," it purred.

"There is indeed something in it for Us. The message is from one of your…'children'." It said the word with clear disgust in its voice, and Eve wanted to rip out its tongue for daring to ridicule her precious babies.

She swallowed that instinct down. "Which ones?" she asked instead.

"The dragons," Leviathan answered. "It seems as if they managed to rip a hole in the fabric between Earth and Purgatory to send it. But they were not able to scry your exact location. Soon, they say, they will summon you back to Earth to take what is 'rightfully yours'."

Elation rushed through Eve´s veins. Her precious children had not forgotten her. Instead, they had worked continuously on a way to free her from the hell that was Purgatory. Relief, adoration, and motherly pride wrestled within Eve, and in this moment she felt as if she had just been born anew. She had to make sure to reward her children when she returned to Earth – but first she had to deal with Leviathan.

"I ask again," she said coolly, "why have you told me this?"

"Don´t you see, Eve?" Leviathan said, the eyes of its vessel lightening up with unadulterated excitement, "We were never meant to be able to leave this place. If your children rip apart the veil between here and Earth to free you, they will destabilise the borders between the four dimensions. We are powerful and we are many. When you will leave Purgatory, We will follow in your wake!" It clapped with its hands and grinned madly in excitement.

"You seem quite sure about that," Eve commented nonchalantly.

"Eve, Eve, Eve," Leviathan cooed. "As you so knowingly pointed out, We are the first children of God. He imprisoned Us because We were too independent and too powerful. Do you really doubt Our intelligence so much?"

"I doubt many things," Eve answered diplomatically. "Whether your intelligence is one of them or not remains to be seen." She graced Leviathan with a cold smile.

"Have you already decided what you will do when you tread on earthly ground again?" Leviathan asked.

"Oh, indeed I have," Eve purred with a sinister smile on her face. "I have known since the moment I was banished here. I will take revenge on the Master of Death!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I´m back! I hope that you all liked it. 
> 
> My beta reader has to write some exams this and next weeks, but she/he promised that the next parts would come faster than this one. This part will probably be divided into three parts.
> 
> To my shame the wonderful lines Eve is singing do not belong to me but are taken from the song “Midnight Strikes” by LaFee. I had it on repeat when I wrote this part and I thought that it´d fit perfectly. 
> 
> Some people asked about how and why Harry´s powers where limited. Here are my notes about the subject (consider that I only thought about it after the first part was published, therefore there may be some discrepancies):
> 
> “I somehow had to put some rules that would restrict Harry´s power, so that he wouldn´t become too powerful. My thoughts on that matter are that God and Death (Chuck and Harry respectively) cannot interfere with each other´s duties/creations and only partly with free will. Heaven was completely created by Chuck - as were the angels - and therefore Harry can only interfere insofar his status as Death allows him (in this case bringing souls to their afterlife). Earth was set up as home for humanity - a species that has free will and is a combination of God and Death (God created them and Death reaps them) - and therefore both, Death and God can interfere. Because the other two dimensions - Hell and Purgatory - are mostly afterlives they fall under the jurisdiction of Death, even though God created them (but he can interfere with them). Furthermore there is a balance in the universe: every action creates a counter-action, therefore if either Chuck or Harry meddle too much it wouldn't destroy them, but their creations.”


	2. The Mother Of All

"Cas. You´re here." Balthazar should have expected it. When the enigmatic 'Harry' had told him that, sooner or later, someone would find him, he had hoped that it would be on the later side of the scale. But Cas had always been a persistent bugger and with the situation in Heaven becoming more dire by the second it came as no surprise that the little seraph would grab for every possible chance to come out on top of this whole clusterfuck.

"Balthazar," Castiel said, his eyes wide in surprise as if he hadn't dared to believe his best friend to be alive until now.

"It´s good to see you," Balthazar drawled. "He told me you were floating around."

"He?" Cas asked confused.

"Guy called 'Harry'," Balthazar answered. "Nice guy and great conversationalist. And a powerhouse as well."

"You've met the Master of Death?"

"Huh." Balthazar raised his eyebrows. "So that´s what he is – he kind of omitted that fact." Inwardly, he foamed at the mouth with glee. Now the deal he had made with the being had even more weight. He simply was a lucky bastard.

"I grieved your death," Cas continued. And there it was: The proverbial elephant in the porcelain store. Balthazar had to admit that it had been a dickish move to pull on poor and naïve Cas, but if any of their superiors had even the slightest suspicion that word of his demise hadn’t been accurate,it would have not boded well for either of them. And Cas was simply rubbish at acting: the seraph would deliver the message of the death of a loved one in the same tone as the pronouncement that Maria was to deliver God´s son. Now that was a nice image: Cas telling Maria instead of Gabriel. Balthazar supressed a snicker.

"Yeah, yeah. I´m sorry about that, you know," he said instead. "I wanted them to think, you know, so they wouldn't come looking for me?" The last part was phrased like a question. 

"What…is all this? What are you doing?" Cas asked, waving his hand around, indicating the whole room with its lavishing furniture. 

"Whatever I want," Balthazar shrugged. "Today I had a ménage à – what´s French for twelve?" Cas ignored him (how adorable! The little seraph was still uncomfortable with sex), his posture becoming more stiff and his expression turning into a scowl. 

"You stole the Staff of Moses?" Cas inquired instead.

"Sure, sure. I stole a lot of things."

"You were a great and honourable soldier. We fought together!"

Balthazar just sighed. "Honourable," he scoffed. "Cas, let me tell you something. There is no honour to be found in either Heaven, Hell or on Earth. Honour is something for fools who still believe in the inherent good in every being. Sorry to burst your bubble, but out there it´s everyone for themselves. It´s all about gaining power, having power, and keeping power. No matter if you are an angel, a demon, or a human. Tell me, was it honourable to kill all the firstborn sons in Egypt?"

"It was Father´s command!" Cas defended. "Heaven still has honour!"

"The hell it was!" Balthazar shouted. "We both know that Father checked out shortly after Lucifer fell – well, we didn't know it then. But in hindsight, this whole thing was just a power play by the higher-ups. They just couldn't stand it that the people believing in us were slaves to some pagan-worshippers. It offended their pride. So they brought the plagues upon Egypt simply to stick it up to Isis, Osiris and Co that Heaven was more powerful!"

"So that is why you stole the staff?" Cas wanted to know disbelievingly. 

"Oh, I didn't just steal the staff," Balthazar grinned without humour. "I stole a lot of things. And no, that wasn't the reason – at least, not the only one."

"Why take them? Why run away?" Cas asked, his eyes wide open and his shoulders slouched in defeat. 

"Because I could!" Balthazar nearly shouted in Castiel´s face. "So what!? What? I mean – you´re the one who made it possible. The footsteps I´m following – they´re yours! What you did, stopping the big plan, the prize fight? You did more than rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us." Balthazar stretched out his arms and laughed.  "It´s a new era. Nor rules, no destiny. Just utter and complete freedom!"

"And this is what you do with it?" Cas wrinkled his nose in contempt.

"Hey, screw it, right?" Balthazar mocked. "I mean, dad´s not coming back. You might as well blow coke and jump on the bed. You proved to me we could do anything, so I´m trying everything. What difference does it make?"

"Of course it makes a difference – it´s civil ware up there!" Cas exclaimed incredulously.

"I know."

"If we can beat Raphael, we can end this! Just give me the weapons," Cas implored Balthazar. Before said angel could answer, the doors opened abruptly and the Winchesters strode in. They looked rather worse for wear: their hair was dishevelled, both sported several bleeding cuts, and the angel blades in their hands were stained red by blood.

"Ah, your little trained monkeys have finally arrived." Balthazar couldn't help it, really, but he immediately disliked the Winchesters. The shorter one looked like one of those macho guys – broad, cocky, but would run at the first sign of responsibility; that must be the older Winchester: Dean – and the taller one simply had ridiculous hair. Both tensed up at the angel's words.

"So, this is the Balthazar-douche?" the shorter one asked. Yep, Balthazar definitely did not like him.

"Yes, I am," he drawled, "and I wasn't aware that the children were allowed to burst into the adult´s conversation."

"We killed the babysitters," Macho shot back, holding up the angel blade and grinning mirthlessly. "Heaven should invest in better ones."

"Dean," Cas said in a warning tone.

"What about the weapons?" the taller one asked more evenly. "And what about Aaron´s soul?"

"Indeed, Balthazar, what about the weapons?" a female voice drawled, and all four males turned to see Raphael standing on the other side of the room, slowly walking towards them, like a tigress stalking her prey. 

"Raphael," Balthazar greeted. "Can´t say that I´m overjoyed to see you, though your vessel is a big improvement on the last one."

Raphael´s expression didn´t even twitch. "Give me the weapons and I will spare your life."

"Don´t do it!" Cas shouted, and Raphael shot him a murderous look.

"You all act as if I still was in possession of the weapons," Balthazar said, and enjoyed four expressions of utter shock he received from the others. Standing in the middle of the room, his arms hung loosely by his side, his hands stuffed in his pockets. After his proclamation he gave everyone inside the room a lopsided grin.

"What!?" Dean exclaimed, a sentiment which was echoed by his brother. 

If Balthazar thought that the look Raphael had sent Castiel was murderous, then he found it rather difficult to describe the intensity of the gaze he was now receiving from the Archangel. Cas simply looked resigned.

"Why are you all so surprised?" Balthazar huffed. "Did you really think I would keep that hot stuff when everyone is chasing it?"

"Where is it?" Raphael spat, and the air around her crackled with power as she became angrier.

"I found a bulk buyer," Balthazar replied, unfazed.

"Who!?" Raphael screamed, the aura of power intensifying as she took a step forward. 

"Me." In walked the mysterious stranger named Harry with whom Balthazar had made the deal. The angel hadn’t really expected him to come. He had to admit that the green eyed-man who walked through the door was far more intimidating than the seething Archangel in front of him. Maybe it was the calmness with which he strode forward, or his self-assured gait, or simply the fact that Raphael seemed shocked when she saw him. It could also be that he was the Master of Death, which Cas had so nicely revealed. Balthazar wouldn't complain.

"Raphael," Harry greeted the Archangel with a nod. "We haven't seen each other for millennia. I can´t say that your temper made a turn for the better though." 

"You cannot interfere in the matters of Heaven," Raphael responded.

"And I don't," the green-eyed man confirmed. "I promised Balthazar protection in exchange for the weapons he stole. You should thank me, instead, that I offered help to one of Heaven´s angels who was led astray by the temptations of Earth. That has nothing to do with the little conflict of interests you have up there."

Balthazar snickered, Cas looked enraged but didn't dare to speak up and the Winchesters just seemed to be confused by the whole exchange.

"Now, Raphael," Harry continued. "My patience is wearing thin. Please leave this premises before I remove you myself. And don't forget – Balthazar is under my protection now."

"Without the weapons he is useless to me anyway," Raphael sneered, but vanished nevertheless. The Master of Death rubbed his temple.

"Conflict of interests?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Isn´t that what it all boils down to, essentially?" Harry asked.

"The whole Apocalypse could start again!" tall-Winchester exclaimed – that must be Samuel Winchester –  while pulling of a puppy-look Balthazar didn't believe any adult to be capable of.

"Do you know how long angelic wars can last?" the Master of Death asked, amused. "Lucifer´s Rebellion was waged for over five centuries. This 'civil war' hasn´t even breached the one-year-mark. Furthermore, even if Raphael wins, she does not have the necessary power to unseal the Cage."

"Then why help us in the first place if you fuck us over shortly after?" Dean interjected, and by the way Harry´s face darkened Balthazar could guess that it was the wrong thing to say. The light flickered and power saturated the air. Pressure settled down and Balthazar had to use all his strength to keep standing upright. Dean and Sam, lacking the angelic strength he and Cas possessed, were forced to their knees.

"I have indulged your behaviour on some occasions, Dean Winchester," the Master of Death hissed, "but do not forget who you are and especially who I am. I can unmake you with nothing but a single thought; remember that when you think you can mouth off to me." And as fast as the surge of power had come over them, it vanished, and light flooded the room again. Dean and his brother stood up, the former with a look on his face that was a mixture between defiance and genuine fear. The older Winchester didn't seem to be used to beings against which he couldn't fight.

"Will you give us the weapons?" Cas asked hopefully.

"No," the Master of Death answered, and Cas's face fell. "You, angel, showed the maturity of three-year-old, so giving you weapons that could obliterate complete continents within seconds is out of the question. Besides, Balthazar has renounced Heaven and has made Earth his home; him I can help. But you, Castiel – you are still Heaven´s angel, through and through."

"You interfered with the Apocalypse!" Cas exclaimed, and Balthazar couldn't help but feel pity for his friend who stood against the power of an Archangel with only a few other angels.

"The apocalypse was a different matter – the end of all things. It was something that directly involved me and would have inevitably changed the course of the universe," Harry said in soft tone. "This is just another war – one of the thousands that have and will be waged throughout time – and the balance requires me to stay out of it."

"Those are the words of a coward!" Dean shouted. Balthazar winced, sure that this would be prelude to another outburst of power from Harry, and judging by the face of Dean´s brother – wide-eyed, panic-stricken – he wasn't the only who thought so. But, to his astonishment, the expected power-surge failed to appear.

"Ah," the Master of Death chuckled, "The obstreperousness of the youth. I was as hot-headed as you, once. Those were exciting times. I remember them fondly. But alas, they are long gone, and my temper has long since calmed." From the way Dean bit his lips, Balthazar assumed that he had to keep himself back from another smartass-retort.

"Well, seeing as Raphael has left and therefore no longer resembles a threat, I´ll be on my way," Harry continued. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintances." He nodded towards them and vanished.

Dean let out a string of curse words that would have made a sailor blush – and Balthazar would know, as he had used similar words a few centuries ago to do exactly that – and then continued to walk in circles.

"Why did you give the weapons to him?" tall-and-floppy asked with his deer-in-the-headlight-look.

How a grown-up man with any self-respect could affect such an expression was beyond Balthazar´s understanding. "I know that human memory can be faulty at times," Balthazar drawled. "But I had hoped that yours wasn't beyond the point of no return. I just explained it to Raphael: I´m not stupid enough to keep the weapons when two warring forces are both after them. He had the power to protect me, and he had interest in the weapons. Perfect deal!" Tall-and-plaid looked pissed off.

Moose! Balthazar thought, suddenly hit with the revelation. That's the animal he looks like!

"Besides," Balthazar added, "that deal ensured that Raphael wouldn't get her hands on the weapons."

"So you have chosen a side?" Dean asked sneakily. Cas head snapped up at that comment.

"Of course," Balthazar huffed. "I may have made sure that the weapons were outside of everyone´s reach, but that doesn't mean that I won´t help Cassie. He´s my favourite brother, after all!"

"Thank you," Cas said, gratitude shining in his eyes.

* * *

 

"Castiel." Hearing his name uttered like it was a curse was nothing new to him, but hearing it after time had frozen was a surprise even for him. When he turned around, he saw a blond woman in rather boorish business attire and black horn-rimmed spectacles in front of eyes that sparkled with anger and indignation. Castiel recognised her instantly.

"Atropos," Castiel said in a way of greeting. An awkward silence followed, so he added, "You look well."

And that was obviously the wrong thing to say, for the angry spark in her eyes grew even larger. "I look like stomped-over crap, because of you!" she hissed at him.

"All right, let´s talk about this," Castiel said in a calm voice in order to not further enrage the Fate.

"Talk? About what?" Atropos exclaimed incredulously. "Maybe about how you and those two circus clowns destroyed my work? You ruined my life!"

"Let´s not get emotional– "

"Not get emotional!?" the Fate screeched, interrupting. "I had a job! God gave me a job! We all had a script. I worked hard. I was really, really good at what I did. Until the day of the big prize fight. And then what happens? You throw out the book!"

"Well, I am sorry," Castiel said sincerely, "but freedom is more preferable."

"Freedom?" Atropos shook her head. "This is chaos! How is this better? You know, I even went to Heaven just to ask what to do next and you know what? No one would even talk to me."

"I´m sorry," Castiel repeated. "But your services are no longer required."

"You know what?" Atropos began to rant. "I´ve kept my mouth shut. I could have complained, I could have raised a fuss, but I didn't. But you know what the last straw is? Un-sinking the Titanic. You changed the future. You cannot change the past. That´s going too far!"

"It´s Balthazar," Castiel stuttered as explanation. "He´s erratic –"

"Bull crap," Atropos spit out. "This isn´t about some stupid movie. He´s under your orders. You sent him back to save that ship."

"No, I didn't. Why would I?"

"Oh, maybe because you´re in the middle of a war and you´re desperate?" Atropos scoffed. "Come on. This is about the souls."

Cold dread washed through Castiel. How could she know that? He had been so careful to hide his true intention from everyone. Not even Balthazar knew, and he was the one who did the deed. If it became public knowledge that he was not above manipulating time and souls in order to reach his goals, his allies would leave him in droves. There was no greater crime than dabbling with souls, the purest and most perfect of their Father´s creation.

"You do not know what you are talking about," he pressed out.

"That angel went and created 50,000 new souls for your war machine," Atropos continued unfazed.

"You are confused," Castiel tried again. If only he could convince Atropos let go of that notion.

"No," she replied. "You can´t just mint money, Castiel. It´s wrong…it´s dangerous – and I won´t let you."

"You don´t have a choice," Castiel said menacingly and took a threatening step towards Atropos. The Fate kept her calm and grinned at him like a cat before devouring its prey.

"Castiel, Castiel," she crooned seductively. "At whose behest do you think I am here?" She savoured his obvious confusion.

"God is no longer there to give us orders," she continued. "So we Fates went to the only being that is his equal." Castiel´s eyes widened in shock when he realised to whom she was referring.

"There is nothing worse in his eyes than to mess with the balance of life and death," Atropos said, smile growing even wider. "You´ve made him quite mad. Nevertheless, I´m only here to give you a message from him."

"What is this message?" Castiel asked through clenched teeth.

"You´re given a choice," Atropos explained. "You either set everything right again or he will have me take 50,000 other souls away from you."

Castiel had to suppress the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. How could it be that every time he made some headway in turning the tides of the war, the Master of Death would interfere and make everything even worse for him? First the weapons, and now this. But it only filled him with more resolution to continue with Crowley´s plan. Atropos was right; he was desperate, and slowly but surely every choice but one was being taken away from him.

Atropos – completely obvious to his inner turmoil – continued.

"And I think I´ll start with the souls of your two favourite pets," she mocked.

Castiel balled his fist so hard that the knuckles became white. "I will kill you before you even have the chance!" he hissed.

"You may," Atropos shrugged, "but think about this: I´ve got two sisters out there. They´re bigger, in every sense of the word. Kill me – Sam and Dean are the target one, for simple vengeance. You´re not fighting a war or anything, right? You can watch them every millisecond of every day. Because maybe you have heard: Fate strikes when you least expect it."

"Balthazar, stop," Castiel commanded and the angel – standing behind Atropos, ready to strike her with his angel blade – looked at him like a child caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.

"Ah. Awkward," he said.

"Set things right before I flick your precious boys off a cliff just on principle," Atropos commanded darkly.

"Uh, sweetie," Balthazar began, "before we go, um, I could remove that stick from your –"

"Don´t try me!" Atropos snapped.

"Oh. We´ll leave it inserted, then." Balthazar shrugged. "All right, then. Let´s sink the Titanic!"

* * *

 

"It wasn't a dream," Castiel said as he appeared beside Dean and Sam on Bobby´s scrapyard.

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, confused. "You´re saying this actually happened? That the whole – whatever – was real?"

"Yes," Castiel stated simply.

"Wait, so what happened?" Sam inquired.

"Well," Castiel explained, "I insisted Balthazar go back in time and correct what he had done."

"Ellen and Jo?" Dean asked with a shimmer of hope in his voice.

"I am sorry," was all Castiel had to say to make Dean´s face fall.

"Hold on," Dean said. "So, if you guys went and changed everything back, then that whole timeline or whatever got erased?"

"More or less," Castiel replied, not in the mood to explain the complicated mechanics of time travel to the older Winchester.

"Well, then, how come he and I remember it?" Dean gestured at Sam.

"Because I wanted you to remember it," Castiel answered.

"Why?" Sam inquired calmly.

"I wanted you to know who Fate really is," Castiel said. "She is cruel and capricious. You are the ones who taught me that you can make your own destiny. You don't have to be ruled by fate. You can choose freedom. I still believe that that is something worth fighting for. I just wanted you to understand that."

"So wait," Dean interjected. "Did Balthazar really, uh, unravel the sweater over a chick flick?"

"Yes," Castiel lied. It should have terrified him how easily he could lie to those he felt closest to. But he only felt numb, too far into his and Crowley´s scheme to feel anything else. Too late to back out and to confess. "Absolutely. That´s what he did." Dean and Sam looked at him, and Castiel felt as if he stayed any longer they would see the filthy liar he had become. That his web of lies would unravel before them, leaving him bare and defenceless. So without further ado, he vanished.

* * *

Eve could feel deep within her very being when her children began the summoning. Ancient power began to course through her veins, and the very ground she stood on began to shake. Wind flared up – far stronger than it had ever been before – and blew through the forest. She let out a loud laugh and fell to her knees in elation. Finally, she was going home; going back to her children!

Eve stood up and began to walk forwards. Her surroundings began to blur and the colours slowly faded into a black nothingness. There were no noises, just silence, and if whole eternities had passed by, Eve wouldn't have noticed. But that didn't matter. Nothing but coming home mattered.

She did not look back a single time.

Suddenly, a light began to flare up in the distance. It became bigger and bigger, and all of a sudden Eve was engulfed by flames so high that she couldn't see past them. Within the flames, she found her vessel: a young girl, no older than eighteen. Her hair was black – though not quite as black as the hair of the illusion she had created for herself in Purgatory – and a face beautiful like an angel. She wore a white nightgown that was stained by her own blood that flowed from where her throat had been cut. The girl was suspended in the air, falling in slow motion. Eve walked forward without hesitation and touched the girl, and as she did, she was sucked into the body. The girl´s corpus became her own; every fibre of this body filled with Eve´s essence. And then she rose up, higher and higher, until she finally reached the end of the portal in a cave. 

Slowly she floated over the abyss towards the ledge of the cave. All around her nothing but dark stone with no signs of life.

In front of her, four dragons – her precious children – were kneeling. They looked up to her in awe and reverence, and Eve couldn't help but feel satisfaction that she was being finally given her due. She descended upon them and finally her feet touched hard ground.

"Welcome," one of the dragons said.

"You kept me waiting," Eve chided in playful tone. "We have so much to do. Let´s get started."

* * *

 

At the outskirts of the little town of Hope was an abandoned facility. The once noble and awe-inspiring building, which once looked like a miniature castle, was now nothing more than a shell: the windows were shattered, the glass shards hidden in the overgrown grass. Some of the windows were barred with wooden boards to keep out the curious youngsters and homeless from the nearby town, but after a while no one had bothered anymore, so many were nothing more than gaping holes in the brick walls.

Once the building had been a renowned psychiatric hospital back in the 1920s when electrocution, caning, and lobotomy were seen as normal procedures with which to treat the mentally ill. Countless people had been killed by either suicide or overzealous doctors who were allowed to do nearly anything to their patients, as long as it could be justified as useful in alleviating the symptoms of illness. The facility had been closed in the 1950s when articles about the inhuman methods were run in state-wide media, and public pressure became too much. The doctors and nursing staff disappeared into obscurity, and only the conspiracy theoreticians claimed that they were simply transferred to other facilities to continue experimenting on people.

The town council tried to re-use the building as a public school for difficult children. However, after an eleven-year-old boy murdered six other pupils, claiming that the screaming voices in his head had ordered him to do so, the building was left to rot. The local folk still claimed that the ghosts of those who had died within its blood-stained walls would kill anyone who dared to enter as revenge for all the pain and agony they had suffered.

Within the old building was a round room with an operating table right in the middle, and to the table a black male was bound. Signs of a difficult struggle were evident in the bruises that were forming under the skin where the manacles cut deep into flesh. The man was quiescent, his eyes staring into nothingness. Several metal needles protruded from his skull, blotted with blood. A man was standing beside the operating table, wearing a white, blood-stained apron over his elegant black suit – and he looked at the corpse with curiosity. Suddenly, another man appeared in the room with nothing but the sound of rustling feathers heralding his arrival.

"Ah, Squirrel," the man standing before the operating table said. "Finally coming to see the fruits of our labour?"

"Crowley," the blue-eyed man stated, emotionless. "Why did you call me?"

"Because this," the man – Crowley – pointed at the motionless corpse, "was the last puzzle piece to the binding ritual we sought. As soon as the full moon rises again, we will be in control of one of the most powerful beings in the universe."

"About time," Castiel said. "The Winchesters are aware that we collaborate." The angels stood completely motionless, betraying his inhuman nature. Crowley knew that the angel only reverted to this state when he was under great pressure. He could use that.

"What!?" Crowley exclaimed in indignation. "You had one job! To keep the bloody Winchesters out of our hair and you failed."

"They won´t become a threat to our plans," Castiel said.

"The bloody hell they won't!" Crowley spat. "Azazel, Lilith, Alistair, Lucifer, Michael – they all thought they were far too powerful to fall because of two insignificant humans, and look who's either dead or locked up in Hell and who's still treading this very ground, killing my subordinates left and right. I refuse to make the same mistake by underestimating those two fashion-challenged idiots!" Crowley took a breath as he calmed down. "How did they even find out?"

"It seems as though I have been careless," Castiel explained. "I displayed knowledge that I should not have had, and they caught on."

"But they don't know what exactly we have planned, do they?"

"They assume we try to open a portal to Purgatory in a bid to take the souls of the monsters residing there."

"To be fair, that was my plan," Crowley said while he continued prodding the metal needles in the corpse´s head. "But then I received the intelligence about this ritual, and seeing that it has the potential for a far more satisfactory result, I abandoned the other one."

Neither spoke what was really on their minds. Though it was theoretically possible to bind the Master of Death to more than one being, neither of them planned to uphold their part of the deal. And so – with the final piece for the ritual finally in place – paranoia spread through both of their minds; always looking for the exact point when the other one would turn back on their word. 

"What's the last ingredient for the ritual?" Castiel asked, looking at Crowley expectantly.

"It's something that could be rather hard to come by," Crowley drawled. "Blood of the Mother of All…while she's still alive."

Castiel blinked at him. "I can get it."

"What?" Crowley gaped, a rather uncouth mannerism for him.

"Before the Winchesters discovered that I allied with you, we were on a hunt for the Mother of All," Castiel explained. "It seems that she escaped Purgatory a while ago, and she has already attacked the hunter community."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Crowley exclaimed. "Get her!" The angel hesitated but then vanished.  Crowley just stood there for a few minutes. Then he turned towards the corpse.

"Why do I even bother with those idiots?" he asked the motionless body, as if it would give him the answer to that particular question.

* * *

 

To say that their search for Eve had been a complete failure so far would be – at least in Bobby´s opinion – an understatement. The whole town of Grants Pass had been turned into monster hybrids that Dean, in one of his childish outbursts, had named "Jefferson Starships", who were rather difficult to kill. Now, Dean, Sam, and Bobby were crouched behind a car on the other side of a diner´s parking lot. To the best of their knowledge, Eve was inside, and for Bobby it looked like a trap. But the two boys wouldn't listen to him.

"We already killed half the town," Sam argued. "There shouldn't be any more monsters. It doesn't spread that fast."

"How would you know, idjit?" Bobby groused. "After all, we're dealing with a completely new species of monster."

"Arguing like an old married couple won´t change anything," Dean interrupted the two of them. "No matter who's right, we have to go in there anyway to get to Eve."

"We don't know if Eve is even in there!" Bobby exclaimed.

"She is." Bobby nearly had a stroke when he heard Castiel´s voice behind them; without thinking, his hand went straight to his gun; he turned around and aimed for their once-friend. While the angel´s betrayal had stung for Bobby it was devastating for his boys – more so for Dean than Sam. And that was something that Bobby could and would not forgive. Nothing on this planet had the right to hurt his boys like the angel had done. Only Dean´s belief that they somehow could still make Castiel see the error of his way kept Bobby from firing.

"What do you want?" Dean spat. "Crowley send you on another errand?"

"Dean," Cas said pleadingly.

"What do you want, Cas?" Sam asked.

"While we've had our differences…" – here, Dean snorted – "Eve is a threat to all of us. I came here to help you kill her."

"Why should we trust you?" Bobby demanded. Castiel turned to him, his blue eyes boring into Bobby´s.

Eyes are the windows to the soul. That old proverb came to Bobby's mind. Castiel's eyes looked old – not like when they had first met and they spoke of wisdom and knowledge beyond anything he could imagine – but rather like a war veteran who fought a losing battle against a too powerful foe: weary, caged, and desperate. 

"Why shouldn't you?" Castiel replied. "You may think that I betrayed you – and, in a sense, I did – but I still consider you my friends. Why should I betray you in a situation like this, when I have nothing to gain but everything to lose?" He looked at them, eyes pleading. And Bobby, even though he didn't want to, could sympathise with the angel. The poor sod really thought that what he did was the right thing to do. He was eerily similar to Dean and Sam in this respect: once they'd made up their mind about something, they went through with it. Dean selling his soul and Sam trusting that Ruby-bitch – both of these things led to even greater disasters. Now it seemed to be Castiel´s turn in making a shitty decision, and Bobby would do everything to spare them the aftermath of this one.

"No," Dean said resolutely. "We don't need your help."

"Dean," Sam interjected. "We´re three people against the Mother of All. Maybe we shouldn't refuse his help."

"He betrayed us!" Dean spit out, anger burning hot in his eyes.

"We need every help we can get," Bobby said.

Dean looked at him in disappointment.  "You stay with Bobby and back us up," he said grudgingly after a moment. Castiel shoulders sagged in relief, and the angel offered them a tender smile.

"Look out for anything suspicious," Sam instructed, and then he and his brother turned around and walked towards the diner.

Bobby sat down behind the car and looked at Castiel, who was still standing. "You really think you´re doing the right thing, don't you?"

Castiel looked at him with a blank expression. "It´s the only way," he whispered. "Raphael´s forces are too strong, and the Master of Death will not interfere. With the souls from Purgatory, I will be able to defend what Dean and Sam – what we all – have fought so hard to achieve."

"But what if the price is too high?"

"I would pay it nevertheless," Castiel answered, "if it offers an end to all this." And with that, silence descended upon them.

* * *

 

"Two specials, right?" Eve said as she put the two plates in front of Sam and Dean.

"Uh, no, that´s not for us. We were just heading out," Sam said in a last effort to get himself and his brother out of this monster-infested diner. 

"Now that would be rude, Sam," she chided with a predatory grin on her face.

"Let me guess: Eve?" Sam said in a resigned voice. Both Winchesters tensed up, looked at each other. 

Eve´s smile grew wider. She so liked it when her opponents had at least a little bit of intelligence and weren't raving Leviathans. "Pleasure," she purred, enjoying the reviled expression on both of the Winchester´s faces.

"Why don´t we step outside," Dean suggested. "Chat?" Eve had to admit: not even faced with powerful foes did these two seem to lose their composure. They would be fun to play with.

"Why?" she asked innocently. "This is private." She gestured with her hand, and her children closed the blinds, effectively cutting them off from the outside world. One child of hers took Dean´s bag and opened it. Eve took his gun and smelled it. Her face warped into an expression of disgust when the characteristic odour of phoenix ash reached her nose. It seemed these two humans were far more dangerous and resourceful than she had anticipated.

"Phoenix ash," she stated. "I´m impressed. I bet you had to go a long way for that."

"You have no idea," Dean said and his brother scoffed at this. Eve turned towards one of her children.

"Destroy this," she ordered. After he had taken the guns, Eve turned back to Dean and Sam. "Relax. I´m not here to fight."

"No?" Dean scoffed. "Just to rally every freak on the planet, bring Khan Worms and half-assed spider-men and dragons. Really, sister? Dragons?" Eve had to resist the urge to tear out his throat right here and now. How dare he mock her precious children!

"So I dusted off some old classics," she said instead, sending him a sickly-sweet smile. "I needed help."

"With what?" Sam asked incredulously. "Tearing apart the planet?"

"You misunderstand me," Eve said in a patronising tone. "I never wanted that. Not at first." Both Winchesters looked at her in disbelief. Eve just shrugged her shoulders. It was true, after all: she just wanted revenge on the Master of Death for separating her from her children and imprisoning her in Purgatory. She did not care for the human race. It was beneath her and her children. But when she had been notified of that vile demon hunting her children – even her alphas – she just couldn't stand idly by and watch her own creations being killed by this abomination. "I liked our arrangement."

"What arrangement?" Sam asked.

"The natural order," she explained. "My children turned a few of you, you hunted a few of them. I was happy." That was a lie. She had never been happy in that dreadful place she had been imprisoned in. But the Winchesters didn't need to know that.

"Okay, so what changed?" Dean interjected.

_My children summoned me back so I could take my revenge_ , Eve answered silently, but aloud she said, "My children – no thanks to you – started getting kidnapped and tortured. Even my firstborns. I was pushed into this. After all, a mother defends her children." 

"Really?" Dean interjected unbelieving. "You´re gonna use the Mother of The Year defence? You?"

"It happens to be true," Eve replied, seething inwardly. "Maybe you´ll believe it if I look a little more like this." And then she changed: she became taller, her skin gained took some more tanned colour and her hair changed into golden curls that fell over her shoulders. A perfect replica of Mary Winchester.

"Oh, you bitch!" Dean bit out, hot rage in his eyes. He looked as if he had to restrain himself from jumping at her. 

_Good_ , Eve thought. That would make him lower his defences. Angry humans were stupid humans after all.

"She died to protect you, didn't she?" The question was completely rhetorical, so Eve didn't really expect an answer. "See. You understand a mother´s love. I´m no different."

"Alright, you know what?" Dean interrupted, his patience obviously running thin. "This conversation´s over. If you´re gonna kill us, kill us."

"You?" Eve scoffed at that ridiculous notion. "No. It´s Crowley I want dead."  _And the Master of Death at my feet,_ she added in her head. No need to tell the Winchesters that little piece of information.

"Any ideas why he´s hurting my babies?" she asked.

"He wants Purgatory, right?" Dean replied. "Location. Location. Location."

Eve laughed at the humans' naivety. Had they absolutely no clue what this whole war was about? Did they really believe that Crowley – or their angel friend – was after the location of Purgatory? No. It was all about who would be the first one to finish the ritual and bind the Master of Death.

"Is that what he told you?" Eve shook her head. "It´s about the souls." Give them the secondary reason why anyone would be after Purgatory, so that they wouldn't search for the primary one. One of the oldest tricks in the book.

"What about them?" Sam inquired.

"Their power, you simple little monkey," Eve said patronizingly. "Fuel. Each soul a beautiful little nuclear reactor. Put them together, you have the sun. Now think what the King of Hell could do with that vast, untapped oil well. How powerful he´d be."

By the simultaneous looks of horror that crossed the Winchesters' faces, they could imagine that scenario very well. Inwardly, Eve rolled her eyes. Sometimes she couldn't fathom how humanity had prevailed over the millennia. If Crowley really was after the souls of Purgatory, he would have needed a completely different approach. Kidnapping her alphas, because she had bequeathed parts of the ritual she had developed to them, had absolutely nothing to do with gaining access to the souls of Purgatory. If those two stupid hunters had even one ounce of observation skill, they would notice that. But Eve – she had everything planned out, every little detail. And if achieving her goals meant to feed completely false notions to the two Winchesters, who was she but to do so?

_My respect for Lucifer and Michael has reached new lows given these two fools put them down_ , she thought to herself.

Exactly in this moment, the door opened and a few of her children brought in two captives. One of them was the grumpy hunter and the other one the angel who was always at the Winchesters´ sides.

"Well, so much for your plan B," Eve mocked as she saw Dean´s and Sam´s faces fall. They obviously hadn't thought that those two would be caught. She turned towards the angel, who so desperately tried to access his Grace but found himself unable to do so. Eve could see the pure power simmering under the vessel´s skin, and, oh, how it tried to break out. But every time it tried to leave the body, she would simply snuff it out.

"And you, wondering why you're so flaccid?" Eve taunted. "I´m older than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. As long as I´m around, consider yourself unplugged." She turned back towards Dean and Sam. "Work for me. It´s a good deal. Bonus, I won´t kill your friends."

"Alright, look," Dean said. "We´re not about to sign up for an evil bitch like you. We don´t work with demons. We don´t work with monsters. And if that means you gotta kill us, then kill us!"

Eve nearly had to laugh out loud at this show of false bravado. "Or I could turn you," Eve mused. "Then you would do what I want anyway."

"Beat me with a wire hanger, the answer is still no!" Dean exclaimed. Eve took a step – too fast for human eyes to follow – and stood behind Dean. She grasped his shoulders and held her head next to his. Sam tried to jump at her, but two of her children took his shoulders in an iron grip. He struggled against their restraints, but against two beings with supernatural strength, he couldn't do much.

"Don´t test me," Eve whispered in Dean´s ear – still looking like Mary – and she could see the goose bumps travelling down his neck.

"Bite me," Dean hissed. In another universe, Eve would have. Her teeth would have pierced through Dean´s skin and she would have injected her venom. And in doing so, Eve would have signed her own death warrant, for the phoenix ash in his bloodstream would have killed her. But Fate´s script had been thrown out of the window; its pages had been spread all over the street. This time, Eve was smarter, more alert, than she would have been.

"I don't think so," she purred. "Come to think about it, maybe I should start with your darling brother, mmh? Such a fine specimen, this one." She could feel Dean becoming rigid under her grip, his muscles all becoming tense as if he was preparing to attack her.

"Do you really think me such a fool?" Eve continued. "I smelled the phoenix ash clinging onto you the moment you entered." Shell-shocked expressions washed over the three hunters´ faces. "Your brother, on the contrary, smells deliciously human. Not enough for two shots?" Dean tried to stand up from his stool, to turn around and jump at her, but Eve had foreseen such a response and simply tightened her grip on the older Winchester´s shoulders.

"Now what?" Dean asked. He tried to appear calm, but his elevated breathing told Eve that he was terrified. Not for himself, but his brother.

"I asked you nicely to work with me," Eve began, "but you did nothing but throw my generous proposal back in my face. I don´t give second chances. So I'll turn your brother, Dean, and let you live in the knowledge that it was you who damned his soul." She motioned for two of her children to take care of the Dean. The hunter lashed out and snarled, but one of her new creations overpowered him with one punch to the abdomen, and Dean fell limbless to the ground.

Eve stalked towards Sam, who fruitlessly tried to escape her children's grasp. Eve revelled in the panic and despair that oozed from the two hunter brothers and their companions. Eve had heard of the Winchester´s inability to stay dead on a permanent basis. Turning Sam would not only make him one of her children, but would also give her complete control over his soul. Neither angels nor demons would be able to resurrect him; he would be hers for all eternity. She grinned at that thought.

"I will ascend you to heights unknown," Eve whispered. She bared her teeth and inched closer to Sam when a sudden burst of pain shot through her body. She looked down: an angel blade was pierced through her middle, smeared with her own blood. Eve turned around. The angel – Castiel – had somehow freed himself from her children´s hold and used his sword to stab her. She laughed – a rough and hard sound – and blood spurted from her mouth.

"You can´t kill me with that tiny little sword of yours," she taunted. "Michael was not able to kill me with his, and his power far surmounted yours." She grinned at him as another wave of blood poured out of her mouth.

"It may not be able to kill you," Castiel said resolutely, "but it is enough to weaken you significantly." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was filled with demons. Their black-eyes stared at them with hunger and sick glee.

"Kill them," Castiel ordered them, and the demons flung themselves at Eve's children.

Eve desperately wanted to help her precious creations, but like that stupid angel had predicted, the blade buried in her body weakened her too much. So she had to watch as the demons tore into her offspring. Inhuman screams rung through the air as demons and monsters battled with each other, tearing each other apart. One of her children tore a demon´s head off, only for that disgusting abomination to flee as black smoke; another went down after two demons repeatedly stabbed it with their daggers until they were completely covered in blood. And even though her children fought valiantly, Eve knew that they would not win: the demons had the superior manpower. 

She kneeled on the ground, blood slowly colouring the ground red and stretched her hands out in a desperate attempt to reach her children – to somehow prevent them from dying.

"Cas, kill her!" the taller Winchester – he, his brother, and the older hunter had freed themselves while the chaos raged on – shouted and threw the gun filled with the phoenix ash bullets towards the angel. Castiel caught the weapon and examined it. Then he opened its chamber and let the bullets fall to the ground.

"Cas, what the fuck!?" Dean exclaimed angrily.

"I need her alive," Castiel explained. "I am truly sorry." Then he touched Eve´s forehead with his index finger. She felt pressure on her whole body – she felt as if she was about to be grinded to dust – as her surroundings vanished and were replaced by the white walls of a laboratory.

“Welcome,” a chubby man in suit – a demon as she could see his essence underneath the human vessel – said. “To our humble abode.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This note will be quite long and explain my reasoning for limiting Harry´s power, so if you aren’t interested then simply skip it.
> 
> For my explanation to make sense I have to explain how I write my stories. Unlike other authors I don´t plan them. Sure, I know what I want to happen, but I don´t envisage every little detail; I simply write down what comes to my mind at the exact moment I´m writing. 
> 
> Originally I hadn’t planned for this story to go beyond the first arc, which enabled me to circumvent the problem of Harry theoretically having limitless power by simply ignoring the problem. I had some ‘check and balances’ in place but when I started the second arc I noticed that they weren´t enough. In order to have an interesting plot I somehow had to limit Harry´s powers even more, lest he would be able to simply curbstomp every opponent and that wouldn’t make for a good story. 
> 
> Some reviewers mentioned that Chuck seemed to have more power. Here I say that Chuck is – in this story – a minor character and therefore his powers and limits aren’t as touched upon as Harrys’. For me he was simply a plot device to bring the story along and to close some of the plotholes of SPN I was faced with. E.g. how was Death imprisoned until Lucifer´s rising, who did the imprisoning and what of Death´s duties while he was locked away? A question SPN does not answer. If Chuck was to become a major character in this story I would limit his powers as well. 
> 
> Others asked why Chuck didn’t interfere on behalf of either Harry or the Winchesters? You could ask the same question of the makers of SPN. They could have used the deus ex machina ‘God’ as well but then we probably wouldn’t have ten seasons of SPN because everything would have been taken care of by God sniping with his fingers in 1.01. And that´s the reason why I keep Chuck outside my plot as well. It´s already difficult enough with only one primordial being. 
> 
> I know that some of you probably find some logical holes in my explanation. I write stories for fun and because I like creating worlds and I never claimed that I would do so perfectly. I never intended for this story to become so big and it shows because I never laid the foundation for a story longer than one arc. I and my beta-reader try to keep this story as consistent as possible, but sometimes we simply have to bend the explanations in impossible angles to make it fit the narrative. So all I ask of you is that you enjoy the story and ignore minor inconsistencies and if you can´t then just unfollow this work. 
> 
> Nevertheless, I want to thank you all for the big support and the heart-warming reviews I got from all of you. Every time I read one or I look upon how many followers I´ve already got I´m so happy and proud and that´s all because of you. You´re the best!


	3. Brave New World

 

There weren't many things that could fill an Archangel with trepidation. Being one of the most powerful entities in the universe led to a certain mixture of confidence, arrogance, and entitlement that only a few could afford to hold onto without being killed by others. Meeting with someone who was indeed more powerful than an Archangel wasn't something that happened very often, and therefore led to said Archangel being completely out of their element.

Raphael gulped as she slowly walked towards the meeting place. The Reaper, who had acted as a messenger, had conveyed to her that his master would meet her here: a nondescript clearing in the middle of a forest somewhere in Siberia. The night was clear: not a single cloud covered the sky, and the stars that were shining on the horizon were bright and uncontested by the human´s city lights. The air was cold and fresh and tasted only a little of the emissions that humanity were constantly producing. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction – black, dark, and somehow brooding.

One of the last places that humanity has yet to destroy, Raphael thought. One could assume that she hated that race with a passion that would rival her fallen brother´s, but it wasn't so: Raphael simply did not care about them.

Once – long, long ago – she had been enthusiastic about this new race that her father had created. Something new, something different – she had been so excited to watch and learn what this species would bring to their universe. But then thousands of her brethren had been killed over a fight between Lucifer and her father, and the humans had been the reason for it.

Rationally, she knew that the humans were not at fault, but emotionally she couldn't help but think that without the human´s existence the Fall would have never happened; their family would still be whole and their father still alive.

Now, when she looked upon Earth and saw the deep gashes that humanity had inflicted upon her, she just felt tired and disgusted. The Apocalypse had been the change to finally end it once and for all, but Castiel and his stupid human pets had ruined everything. Now she was the only one left: Lucifer and Michael were imprisoned in the Cage, and Gabriel had vanished; dead probably. And she couldn't help but resent her brothers for that.

She was the Archangel of Healing. War had never been something that she approved of. But first Lucifer brought bloodshed into their homes, and he was subsequently banished for it. Gabriel abandoned Heaven, leaving her with a broken Michael and a broken Host. She had been the one who brought order back to the Host – gave them assignments, orders, and a purpose – while Michael hid himself in the deepest parts of Heaven to mourn for his lost brother. If she had been a more emotionally inclined, she would have screamed at him that she was still there, she still needed him, but she swallowed it down and continued to convey the illusion to the other ranks that it was still Michael who gave the orders.

And now Michael had left her, too, and Castiel and his renegades fought her at every turn. She had tried so hard to keep Heaven whole over the millennia in the hope that their Father might be still out there and would come back. But this hope had been long since extinguished, and now Heaven was broken. Now she just wanted her brothers back, and she didn't care if it was over the corpse of every human that inhabited earth.

"You wanted to speak with me, Raphael?"

Raphael didn't even flinch, for she had expected the Master of Death. 'Harry' – what an ordinary name. She had asked him once why he chose to be called by that name, when she first met him.

_"He is Father´s oldest friend," Michael had told her in serious voice. "You must be really nice to him." A short pause._

_"He is nice as well," Michael added as afterthought. Raphael – cowering behind one of the trees in Eden – peered from behind the tree trunk._

_"Really?" she asked timidly. Michael just nodded furiously._

_"Michael!? Raphael!?" They heard their father´s voice and looked up to see him walking towards them with another being. Whereas their father was light, warmth, and calmness all at once, the other accompanying him was the complete opposite: dark, cold, and wild like a thunderstorm. Raphael continued to hide behind the tree, covering herself with her wings._

_"You don´t have to fear me, little one," she heard a soothing voice say. Carefully, she peeked through her wings and saw father´s friend standing in front of her, crouched down so that he was at the same height as she. The hair of the vessel he had chosen was black and his eyes were a mesmerizing green that Raphael had never seen before. Behind those green orbs power whirred around – tamed and yet free._

_"What is your name, little one?" he asked her, and a small smile graced his face. It made him look more at peace._

_"Raphael," she answered shyly._

_"'It Is God Who Heals'?"_

_She nodded in confirmation._

_"My name is Harry," the man said._

_"What does it mean?" Raphael asked curiously._

_"I don't know," Harry answered her, shrugging. "I forgot."_

_"Then why is it your name?" Raphael´s name gave her an identity and a purpose. How could Harry live without knowing what his purpose was?_

_"Because," he started to explain, "it is one of the few things that is still left of me, that survived everything that I have been through in my life. So often I have been broken, reformed, forgotten, and remembered that I sometimes don´t know who I am anymore. That name helps me to remember."_

At the time, she hadn't understood what Harry was saying. But now, she did: her name – her purpose – had been one of the few things that had kept her from totally losing herself over the millennia.

"Yes, I did want to speak with you," she answered.

"You know that I cannot interfere in the matters of Heaven?" he pressed on.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But I did not call upon you for that." He kept silent, waiting for her to speak on. "Are you aware that Castiel has allied himself with the current King of Hell Crowley?" Raphael asked and couldn't help but feel disgusted at her fallen brother´s action. He must be truly desperate to lower himself to working with that vermin.

"I am," Harry simply stated. "Not his smartest move. Castiel may be older, but Crowley can play him like a fiddle. But Castiel wouldn't be the first angel in recent times to throw their lot in with the demons, would he? Uriel did as well."

Raphael grimaced as she heard that name. What Uriel had done was simply unforgiveable, and his end had been more than deserved.

"So I ask again," Harry continued. "Why have you called me?"

"They plan to open Purgatory and use the souls within," Raphael said, and by the way the atmosphere around them seemed to darken, she could tell that Harry did not take that announcement well.

"How do you know about such plans?" Harry asked.

"In his endless greed, Crowley approached me and offered to take care of Castiel if I were to help him garner the souls of Purgatory."

"And you didn't accept?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Don´t play coy with me, Raphael. Why did you not use that well of power for yourself?"

"I was tempted," Raphael said. "I imagined what I could do with all that power at my disposal. But then I thought about what else lurks in the depths of Purgatory. I am not so arrogant to think of myself as equal to the Leviathans. They would crush me – and with me Heaven, Earth, and Hell. And that is exactly the reason why I´m here, telling you this. The Leviathans cannot be allowed to escape!"

"Something that we can agree on," Harry murmured. "But what will you do when I have taken care of this problem? You know very well that the moment you release Michael and Lucifer from the Cage, I will be allowed to interfere again."

"How does the human saying go? 'Let´s burn that bridge when we have crossed it?'" To be honest Raphael had hoped that the Master of Death simply would take care of the Leviathans and then vanish again, but it seemed as if that hope was in vain. Fortunately, Harry didn't want to pry further.

"The Leviathans are a threat to your father´s creation," Harry said instead. "I think this warrants the re-introduction of one of your wayward brothers." He snapped with his fingers and another figure appeared in the clearing.

"Ugh, Harry," the figure bemoaned. "What does a guy have to do to earn himself some private time around here?" He stopped and starred at Raphael. "Raph?" Suddenly it hit her: a familiar energy-pattern, the way he talked, and the disgusting nickname that she had always hated until there had been no one to call her by it anymore.

"Gabriel?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p' at the end.

"I am truly sorry that I had to disturb your 'private time'," – Raphael could practically hear the air quotes in Harry's voice – "but a rather urgent manner has come to my attention," Harry explained calmly. "Until the time this matter is settled, I ask of both of you to bury any conflicts or resentments you still hold for each other."

Raphael looked at Gabriel. Oh, how often she had imagined this situation and what she would say to the brother that had abandoned her without second thought. But as she looked at him – this broken, tired, and weary shell of what once had been her joyous brother – the words died on her tongue. So she simply nodded. Gabriel did the same.

"What do you need us for?" Gabriel asked.

"Castiel and Crowley cannot be allowed to open a portal to Purgatory," Harry began to explain. "We have to prevent that from happening. Doors into Purgatory can only be opened when the moon is at its fullest."

"That´s in two days," Raphael said. "How will we find them?"

"Let the Host search every corner of the planet," Harry commanded. "The Reapers will do the same." Raphael and Gabriel nodded. "Let´s hope that we can prevent another catastrophe from happening." And with that, Harry dismissed them with a gesture of his hand. Both Archangels vanished.

* * *

"You already know where Castiel, Crowley, and Eve are holed up," Death commented as he unveiled himself behind Harry.

Harry smirked at him knowingly. "This offers a perfect opportunity to mend what is broken between Gabriel and Raphael. It will force them to work together and work out their differences in a way that does not involve hiding from each other."

"But why are you waiting until the ritual can commence?" Death asked curiously.

Harry turned around and looked him in the eyes. "Because it presents us with the perfect opportunity to tie up all loose ends," Harry explained. "Everything and everyone of importance will be at one place, and the chance of someone slipping through our gasp will be significantly lower. And I want the Winchesters as far away as possible from the site. They have the tendency to complicate everything and ruin perfectly acceptable plans." He smirked and Death followed him suit as they both thought about the hunter duo.

"Then we will reconvene in two days' time?" Death asked, and Harry nodded.

* * *

Eve was strapped to a table. To be honest, it was rather uncomfortable: made of steel, its cold pierced through her body and the sharp angles of it cut deep within her flesh. If she had been human, she would have cried out in pain, but now she just lay there and watched her captors.

Crowley stood behind a wooden desk cluttered with various parchment scrolls, books, and undefinable substances, brewing a nasty-smelling concoction; Castiel, on the other hand, lingered a few meters beside her and watched her with the deep blue eyes of his.

"You must be truly desperate, Castiel," Eve mocked, "to betray those who stood beside you when your own brethren didn't. Do you really think they will ever trust you again?" She tilted her head and flashed him a fake smile. "Was it worth it?" The angel just stared at her, his eyes filling with sadness.

"If saving this world means they will hate me for the rest of their lives, then so be it," he said, but the way he cast down his eyes betrayed that it was nothing but empty sentiment.

"So brave," Eve purred. "So selfless!" She paused for a moment. "Is that what you tell yourself when your guilt is gnawing at your Grace?"

"I had no choice!" Castiel pressed out between clenched teeth. Inwardly, Eve giggled with glee; she played the angel like a puppet.

"If you say so," she taunted.

"Feathers," Crowley interrupted. "Would you please stop flirting with the Mother of All? It´s unbecoming of you. How about you take care of that angel that's currently traipsing around at the edge of my wards?" He lifted an eyebrow at the angel and tilted his head in the direction of the angel. With a short nod towards the demon, Castiel vanished.

"When will you stab him in the back?" Eve asked curiously. "The binding is only for one, no matter what you have told Castiel to stay in line."

"A true gentleman does not kiss and tell," Crowley replied haughtily.

"Good," Eve shot back. "For you haven´t been one for quite a few centuries."

"I still won´t tell you," Crowley said evenly. "And now be quiet. The ritual you devised is rather complicated in its preparation."

"Castiel was more fun," Eve pouted but fell silent when Crowley failed to react to her. Only a few more hours.

* * *

A thundering crash shot through the night as the two angel blades clashed with each other, lightening lit up the night.

"You would have struck me down?" Balthazar asked stunned as he applied more pressure against Castiel, forcing the other angel to take a step back.

"That you are here only means that you, too, have betrayed me," Castiel answered and stepped aside. Bereft of his counter-pressure, Balthazar stumbled forward and would have been skewed on Castiel´s sword if he hadn't spun sideward. It was like slow-motion; Balthazar could clearly see the blade´s edge sweep over his face; could feel the chilling breeze of air that indicated how close the blade was to his face. With much effort, he spread his wings and flew out of Castiel´s reach.

"Betrayed?! I have done nothing to betray you!" he screamed at his former comrade. "What you and Crowley attempt to do is utter madness! Purgatory was closed off from the three dimension for a reason and you want to open it – allow its habitants to come to Earth – only for a bid for power!" Blade raised, he pushed himself forward, straight towards Castiel´s heart. The seraph saw the move coming and blocked it with his blade, but he hadn't calculated with Balthazar´s momentum which sent both angels tumbling backwards.

The next few moments were nothing but a blur of swords clashing against each other. Castiel was fast and agile; his attacks seeming to come out of nowhere. Before one strike was finished, he was already moving on to the next, a storm of deathly efficiency. Balthazar more than matched up with his longer fighting experience: knowing of the futileness of blocking each attack, he spun around Castiel, evading each and every one of his opponent's attacks while trying to land his own. It was a dance of death and beauty with no predictable outcome.

Balthazar saw his chance when Castiel ended one of his attacks far too soon, leaving his right side open for an attack. He thrust his blade upwards, aiming for Castiel´s ribcage. If he got the angle right, he would even hit Castiel's vessel´s heart.

Castiel´s eyes widened. He tried to evade the attack. Balthazar´s blade pierced his skin. Castiel dashed back. The blade continued his way upwards. When Castiel came to a halt a few metres away from Balthazar, a wide gash adorned his side. It shone blue, but red blood spilt out of it. Castiel tried to heal it with his grace. It shone brighter and the blood flow stopped, but the gash would not close.

"I helped you!" Balthazar cried out. "I came back just for you!" He soared forwards in an attempt to strike the other angel, but Castiel noticed and took flight. He appeared on the other side of the field.

"Please, Cas," Balthazar implored. "We are friends! There was no one in the garrison closer than us. I beg you: let go off this folly! It will only lead you to your own damnation!"

"I can´t," Castiel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is my only chance at fixing everything. If you were my friend, you would know that."

"I am your friend," Balthazar shouted desperately. "That´s why I am doing this." He raced forward, his sword held high. The battle continued to rage. Castiel was weakened. His motions were sluggish, but he made up for it with the strength his utter desperation granted him. Like a cornered animal, he lashed out against everything that Balthazar could throw at him.

Suddenly, one of Castiel´s thrusts completely missed its target, making the angel lose his balance. Balthazar was ready – his blade already pointed at Castiel´s heart – when he locked gaze with Castiel. The angel´s deep-blue eyes were filled with desperation, sadness, and resignation. It broke Balthazar´s heart and made him hesitate for only a split second – and that would be his undoing.

Balthazar could only feel the pain spreading from his chest. He looked at the sword protruding from his body and then to Castiel, whose hand still clutched the blade´s hilt.

Balthazar fell to the ground. Castiel moved with him, never averting his gaze.

"It was for you," he whispered. "For Dean, for Sam, for Bobby." Balthazar tried to say something, but the only thing coming from his mouth was a wave of blood. Then his grace exploded and the world sunk into whiteness.

* * *

The whiteness was infinite. No matter where Balthazar looked, there was nothing but white, white and more white. Balthazar somehow felt wrong, but he couldn't decide why. It wasn't tangible, and every time he tried to name it, it fled his mind.

Balthazar tried to stand up. He didn't make it far before pain shot through his whole body and he fell to the ground again. The pain in his muscles, the throbbing headache, the ache in his joints – it was excruciating. And suddenly he knew what was wrong: he felt human. They were human ailments. He shouldn't feel them. Why would he feel human?

"Because only humans can enter the in-between," a voice answered his question. Balthazar twisted his neck to look for the source of the voice only to find the Master of Death standing there.

"So," Balthazar began awkwardly. "Cassie really killed me?"

"He did," Harry confirmed. "My condolences." Balthazar stared at him and blinked. And again. Did the Master of Death really just make a joke?

"Usually the humans who come here are…distraught," the Master of Death explained. "A few words of sympathy often do wonders to their composure."

"I just got killed by my best friend because I wanted to prevent him from going through with the worst decision in the history of ever," Balthazar ranted. "'A few words of sympathy' doesn't quite cut it! I thought we had a deal! The weapons in exchange for your protection!"

"In case you didn't notice, you are not dead," Harry replied drily. "Otherwise, you would have ceased to exist." He took a few steps forward. "And now I will send you back."

"Great," Balthazar said with as much sarcasm as possible. "I can't wait to read Cassie the riot act."

"You won´t go back as angel," the Master of Death said. "You will see."

"What!? Wait, wait, wait…." Balthazar panicked. But it was too late: the last thing he experienced was the feeling of falling.

* * *

In Cologne, Germany, Melanie and Bernhard Walter were laying in each other´s arms, crying. The doctors had just confirmed that Melanie was pregnant, even though they had declared her barren only a few years ago after a severe infection. They called it a medical peculiarity, a one-in-thousand chance. Melanie thought of all the long hours she had spent in church or simply at home, praying to God and begging him for a child, and couldn't help but think that it was a wonder. She touched her still-flat stomach, imagining the little life that was growing within, and vowed to herself that her little wonder-child would always be loved and cherished, no matter what.

* * *

Somehow, Dean had always imagined that summoning Death would be a bit more…complicated and disgusting than simply drawing some obscure symbols on the ground and then wishing really hard that said entity would appear.

Of course – according to Sammy – it wasn't just wishing; it was the strength and purity of the intent that had to be broadcasted that mattered. His brother had continued to explain it further, using all kinds of professional terms, but for Dean it was nothing more wishing that Death would appear in Bobby´s living room.

It said a lot about their lives that they tried to summon something that the majority of beings in this universe tried their whole lives to escape from.

"So now what?" Dean asked. "We just stay around and wish for Death to appear?"

"For the hundredth time, it isn´t 'wishing'," Sam said and sent him bitchface number 24: 'I know that you know that I know that you just said/did something to grate on my nerves'.

"I know, I know," Dean said. "It's 'broadcasting your intent'."

"If you two would stop bitching at each other, we could actually achieve something for once," Bobby cut into their banter with a glare. Dean and Sam both sobered up immediately. Over the last few days, they had desperately searched for the place where Cas and Crowley were hiding. But even with the help of Bobby´s hunter network, they weren't enough to cover the whole US, and if the two were in another country, then they could just as easily give up right now. So in a last ditch effort, they had come up with the idea to ask Death. Dean would have preferred to summon Death´s master, for he wasn't nearly as creepy as his subordinate, but only Gabriel knew how and the Archangel had deserted them.

"I can´t believe what I´m going to say now," Dean started, "but I think I prefer the rituals where you actually have to mix some really weird stuff, because they at least smoke and do shit so that you know that they work." He stared at the lines they had drawn on the floor. No, definitely no weird glowing or smoke.

"I´m kinda disappointed that Death´s summoning is such a huge let-down," Dean added, impervious to the glares Sammy and Bobby were sending him. "I thought we had to – I dunno – sacrifice virgins or use the blood of some monster we've never heard of." Dean was so deep in thought that he didn't notice how Sam and Bobby´s jaw dropped as Death simply walked in behind Dean with a bemused expression on his face.

"Why are you staring at me as if…he is right behind me, isn't he?"

"Indeed I am," Death said and Dean (which he would later adamantly deny) yelped as he jumped forward.

"Don´t get used to it that I heed your every summon. I am not your personal servant," he continued and eyed them with a stare that made every one of the three hardened hunters gulp in trepidation. "But alas you constantly seem to be in the middle of every chaos that seems to occur on this little speck of dirt." Death stared at them with his unnerving black eyes as if he could look down into their very soul, which – Dean thought – was highly probable.

"We just wanted to ask you a question," Sam said cautiously.

"Is that so," Death replied with raised eyebrow. "And what would that question be?"

"Do you know where Crowley and Castiel are hiding?" Dean asked without much tact.

"I have recently acquired the knowledge of their whereabouts," Death answered. "And I will even tell you where they are."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked. It wasn't that he wasn't glad that Death would give the answer to them, but if experience had taught him anything, it was that nobody parts with knowledge without wanting something in return. And if someone did, it was only because they had some ulterior motive, which had the annoying habit of later being revealed as something that could – and probably even wanted to – kill them.

So sue him for not instantly trusting in Death´s sudden altruism.

"Let´s call it a safety measure," Death drawled. "My master does not want you to be anywhere near the ritual because of your annoying habit of destroying more powerful beings' plans. But unlike him, I think that your presence may be exactly what we need."

"That's something I´d have never expected to hear from you," Bobby snorted. "The pathetic humans busting another Apocalypse."

"You would go against the orders of your master?" Sam asked and Dean had to nod in agreement. He couldn't imagine that Death – powerful being that he was – would go against his own, even more powerful, master.

"It wasn't an order," Death drawled. "More…a piece of advice. Let us be frank: my master is rather confident that everything will be resolved in a manner that will be of advantage for him. I am not. There are too many – what do you humans call them? – Wildcards that are not predictable. My master may be powerful, but he is not immune against deceit, cunning, and backstabbing. As much as it pains me to admit it, you are my Wildcard." Silence followed Death´s admission.

"So we are useful and you need us!" Dean whistled, ignoring the warning glances Sam and Bobby shot him. Death just looked at him with that expressionless face of his.

"So where do we have to go?" Bobby asked before Dean could say something which would get him killed. Death simply gave them the location and vanished, but not before handing out a grave warning about what would happen if they failed.

"We need every weapon we can get our hands on," Bobby said after a while. "And we have to read up on every ritual that could help us."

Dean nodded in agreement. Even he could recognize that the odds were stacked against them: demons, angels, and monsters would all stand against them. They would have to take them out in order to succeed and prevent Castiel and Crowley from gaining access to Purgatory.

"What do we do with Cas?" Sam asked. Tiredness washed over Dean as if a dam within had broken. He was so tired of working against those he held dear. First Sammy, when he consented to be Lucifer´s vessel, and now against the only angel that had believed in humanity – had believed inDean, even when he was at his lowest.

"We do what we do with everything that tries to off humans," he answered.

"But Dean…" Sam tried to interrupt but Dean just gestured with his hand for him to stop and he fell silent.

"Not now, Sammy," he snapped and instantly felt sorry for it. But he couldn't have anyone trying to change his mind. He mustn't think of the Cas that didn't get his pop-culture references, or hadn't any concept of privacy. He mustn't remember the one time when he went to a brothel with him – a 'den of iniquity' – only for Cas to make the prostitute cry. Instead, he had to think of the Castiel that was the millennia-old angel without any human qualities. The angel who worked with a demon in order to gain power that could not be controlled. He was their friend no longer – only an enemy amongst many.

"Let´s get this show on the road," Dean said with the brightest smile he could manage. He didn't believe for even a second that he was able to fool either Bobby or Sammy; he couldn't even fool himself. But sacrifices had to be made. It only hurt that it had to be his kinship with Cas.

* * *

When Eve had created the ritual, she obviously hadn't expected to be chained to an operating table while it was conducted, if the hateful glares she sent Crowley's way were any indication. Not that Crowley cared about whether or not Eve was comfortable.

"Is everything ready?" Crowley asked his co-conspirator, the angel Castiel. If Crowley had been religious, he would have thanked God every day that He had sent the naïve little seraph his way. But alas, he was a demon, the embodiment of depravity and evil, so he wasn't really someone who prayed.

Nevertheless, the sentiment stood: Castiel was one of the best things that had happened to him since he ascended to kinghood. Not only had he been able to break up the so called 'Team Free Will', which was now bereft one of their most powerful members, but the angel was also so easily manipulated that Crowley sometimes double-checked that the seraph wasn't some kind of genius that only projected this picture of absolute guilelessness in order to make him lower his defense. But one look in those deep-blue eyes and every doubt was set aside, for no-one could fake that much confusion, regret, and pain. Not that Crowley cared; it would make getting rid of the angel even easier.

"Everything is in place," Castiel answered.

"Then the only thing left is to wait," Crowley said. That was why he preferred witchcraft over rituals. Mix a hexbag and voila – ready to be used against an unsuspecting opponent who didn't even know that they were in Crowley´s way. Rituals, on the contrary, had to be carried out at certain times, like Equinox, and often required ingredients that were rather complicated to acquire, unlike their hexbag counterparts. That was the reason why he only used them when there was no other way.

"I am already bored," Eve commented from where she was strapped down on the table. Crowley didn't believe for a second that this was really what occupied her mind. Eve belonged on the top of the current power structures; only behind God, Death, and its Master; and on equal footing with the Archangels. At one point in time, she had nearly eradicated the whole creation and nearly replaced it with her own creatures. There was no way that she wouldn't try to escape, and Crowley had gone to great lengths to prevent just that from happening. He had used long-forgotten spells and symbols to craft the chains which held Eve, and he had done the same to the whole building so that Eve´s power was greatly restricted. And yet, he couldn't help but think that it was too easy. But he was too close to his goal to give up simply because Eve didn't behave like he expected her to. He would not fail.

"That is hardly my problem, dear," he drawled. "Count sheep; I´ve heard it works wonders on young children´s minds. Considering your habit of using young girls as vessels, it may help you as well." He grinned at her.

"That is exactly why I like you more than the angel," Eve grinned back. "You at least know how to make a decent conversation. I remember that when I will annihilate you." Her grin sharpened and made her appear as if she were a predator eying a pitiful prey. If Crowley were human, a shiver would have run down his spine.

"We will see," he simply said. "We will see."

* * *

The air was charged with energy. It made the hair on Castiel´s back stand up and let shudders run down his spine. Crowley stood right in front of him, reciting the ancient words of the ritual. Eve looked at them with something akin to amusement. It made Castiel uncomfortable. He didn't know much about the emotional state of Eve, but shouldn't she be more fearful, seeing that he and Crowley would soon possess the power to utterly destroy her? Shouldn't she be filled with wrath for them at using a ritual she had devised and was now unable to use by herself? Eve´s behavior worried Castiel, but he couldn't have the ancient being disrupting his concentration, so he banished every thought of the Mother of All to the back of his mind.

They were halfway through the ritual when the door burst open. Castiel didn't have to turn around to know who had entered; he could sense it. Gabriel, Dean and Sam Winchester, Bobby, and...Raphael? Castiel´s whole body went cold as if a bucket of iced water had been dumped over him. They couldn't stand against such overwhelming odds.

But his worries were for naught. Without even interrupting his chant Crowley snapped his fingers, and from everywhere demons descended upon the intruders. Some were using vessels whereas others attacked as incorporeal black smoke. They were only a small challenge for the three hunters and nothing but cannon fodder against the two powerful archangels who smote them like they were nothing but annoying specks of dust. But for every demon killed, two others would take its place, and soon the Winchesters and their allies were driven back as the legions of Hell sprung at them from every direction.

Crowley finished with his part of the ritual and Castiel began to chant his part of the words without missing a beat. He didn't know the language – rather precarious for an angel who knew every other language that had ever existed – but the words were embedded in power. Eve must have spent millennia trying to achieve this result.

While he spoke, Castiel mentally prepared himself for what was yet to come. His words were a summoning; intended to force the Master of Death to appear before them. One false intonation, one forgotten word and the power at his fingertips would turn against him and annihilate him. And so he continued.

* * *

Raphael could feel the demon dissolving as his divine power rushed over him. She could sense the power that Crowley and Castiel had summoned, and now it swirled around them like a dome of invisible energy.

_We can´t interrupt them_ , she heard Gabriel´s voice in her mind.  _If we stop them now, the energy would be set free and none of us knows how much of Earth will be destroyed if that happens._  Raphael send him a mental nod as sign that she understood him. Every ritual had a point of no return, a point at which interrupting the process would have more disastrous consequences than letting the ritual play out. Though Raphael couldn't help but think that a mostly destroyed earth was still preferable to the Leviathans being released, she knew her companions would argue against that point.

_What shall we do instead?_ Raphael asked as she plunged her sword into the body of the next demon who was unfortunate enough to come too close to her. His whole body went rigid and red lightning seemed to shoot under his vessel´s skin.

_That part I haven´t thought about yet,_  Gabriel sent with an underlying feeling of embarrassment. _I just wanted to pass on the observation._

"Gabriel, we have to get closer to Cas and Crowley!" Dean shouted over the fighting noises. He, his brother, and the old hunter stood back to back, splattered with blood, and the corpses of the demons they had killed lay at their feet. Obviously they weren´t as incompetent as Raphael had assumed at first glance.

When they had met at the entrance to the building – even the two archangels couldn't just fly in because of how tight the web of enochian sigils all over the building was – the three humans weren´t really enthused about Raphael's being there. They seemed to bear a grudge for her attempting to fulfil her father´s prophecy. But a few words of Gabriel – who pointed out their lack of allies meant they weren´t really in a position to be picky – made sure that no one would attack each other while they tried to stop Castiel and Crowley´s madness.

"Wow, Deano," Gabriel shot back, "your skill of observation is truly astounding!" He smote another demon. "Never would I have come to that conclusion without your help." Dean glared at Raphael´s brother, but he soon had to defend himself against another demon. They continued to fight against the demonic hordes which never lessened in the strength of their assault. Not until another being joined the fight on the archangel-human-side.

"Disgusting abomination," Death murmured and destroyed the demons with one swipe of his hand.

"I would have thought that you would be more successful in your endeavour to stop the ritual," he said as he stared at them with fathomless eyes. "But alas, I am here, so I may do it by myself instead. Please do, at least, attempt to not die. Somehow my master seems to have taken a liking to all of you, and he would be slightly annoyed at me should you die while under my care." With that Death turned around and strode forward. Raphael and Gabriel were the fastest to recover from the shock and followed the ancient being. It wasn't the weirdest thing they had experienced over the course of their existence by far.

Some demons tried to attack them again, but they were destroyed by Death before they even had the chance to reach them. The humans looked impressed by that feat, and Raphael had to suppress the rather human urge to roll her eyes. Smiting those few demons was nothing against the unrivalled deeds performed during the Morning War, where demons were killed by the thousands. But to a human mind, what Death was doing surely must look impressive.

Only a few meters separated them from the ritual circle in which Crowley and Castiel stood.

"That isn´t the ritual to open a portal to Purgatory," Death said, and for the first time since Raphael knew the being, he looked truly worried, a deep frown marring his face. He wasn't even finished with his sentence when a sudden flash illuminated the whole room in a white glow. When Raphael looked at the circle again, her eyes widened in surprise.

Within its confinements stood the Master of Death.

"Stop it!" Death hissed and turned his whole might against the magical barriers that separated him from his master. Raphael and Gabriel followed suit while the humans just stood there and watched the whole scene with anxiety. But even though three of the most powerful beings of the universe threw their powers at the barrier, it would not budge.

Raphael knew that neither Castiel nor Crowley were powerful enough to erect such a barrier. She pause for a moment and felt for the power that held them at bay. It was somehow familiar, like something she had seen many millennia ago, but blurred by the passing of time since then. Raphael concentrated harder, searching for the right memory, the right answer.

_It feels like father_ , she suddenly realised, but not quite. It was somehow muted and tainted: her father´s bright power buried under a layer of darkness, mutated to something abominable.

_How could that be?_  Raphael asked herself as she continued to tear down the barrier with her angelic powers. Her father hadn´t been seen since he cast down Lucifer into Hell, and she didn't believe for a second that he would return and help Castiel and Crowley in their bid for power in this way. So she continued and hoped that everything would be answered.

* * *

The summoning took Harry by surprise. There were only a few entities in the universe that knew how to summon him – Chuck, Death, Gabriel and, to his chagrin, Eve – but none but one of them could do it by force like it was done now. And Chuck had the courtesy to not even try it, for he knew that Harry could do the same to him in return. But before he could contemplate further, his surroundings vanished and Harry appeared in a dungeon-like room.

Castiel and Crowley were there with him, and all three of them were encompassed by a vortex of power that swirled around them. It was tainted – coloured in hues of black and leaving the taste of ash in his mouth – like they had taken something pure and twisted it until it became the abomination it was now. But under the layers of taint and dirt, Harry could sense the familiar light magic that was so telling for everything that Chuck did. How did Castiel and Crowley attain a piece of Chuck's power?

_Eve,_  Harry thought as his gaze fell upon the Mother of All who was strapped on the table not far away from where the ritual commenced. She had held onto the power the apple had given her all this time in the hopes of...doing what exactly? Harry was trapped, he knew that. He and Chuck were on equal standing, unable to overpower each other. He couldn't just bulldoze his way out of this current predicament.

"What are you doing?" he asked instead. He had miscalculated. He had thought that Castiel and Crowley were after the souls banished in Purgatory to enhance their strengths in pursuit of their own agendas. While certainly not something he would approve of, it nevertheless wasn't something that would have required his intervention. The universe had its own way of regaining balance after something major happened. But Harry would have never thought that somehow he was involved in their scheme. He should have listened when Death warned him of becoming complacent.

"What is necessary for the prevention of another Apocalypse," Castiel answered, his voice filled with remorse and regret. "Even if it means resorting to immoral means." Crowley didn't answer. He obviously was too assured of himself and his impeding success that he wouldn't even bother with Harry.

The power continued to grow, a true crescendo of colours only visible to the non-humans in the room. Behind the barrier, Harry noticed Gabriel, Raphael, Death, and the Winchesters with Bobby – all powerless to stop what was happening. Eve watched the whole thing, a gleam in her eyes that made even Harry shudder. For someone who probably wouldn't survive whatever Crowley and Castiel had planned, she certainly didn't look even a little bit afraid.

But Harry had no time to further contemplate the state of Eve´s mind. Tendrils of power surged forward and latched onto him. One flick of his hand and it disintegrated, only to be replaced by two others. More and more tendrils tried to wrap themselves around him, wanting to force him into submission. But Harry would not crave. He was Death, the Destroyer, Vanquisher of Worlds, the End of All, and no upstart demon and disgraced seraph would make him bow. They may have caged him, but they would not chain him.

Harry´s power exploded, destroying the power that would have him enslaved, a vortex of darkness that was nothing like the vile blackness that was the demons. A booming sound echoed through the room and the air was charged with electricity. Crowley´s and Castiel's eyes widened. They obviously hadn´t expected him to be able to resist their ritual. But the barrier around them still stood impenetrable and firm.

"Did you truly think that your crazy scheme would work?" Harry hissed venomously. "That you could chain me?  _Me?!_ "

"No, I didn't," Crowley answered without a hint of panic in his voice. "Who would be so foolish to presume to be able to chain you? But," he continued, "that doesn't mean that the ritual will not work." He gave Harry a predatory smile. "Because, unlike some other people, I observe."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked. "And why would you think that this will work in the end?"

"If you won´t submit then I will turn this ritual against Death," Crowley stated. "And he won´t be able to fight it off."

"Why would I care?" Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant, his posture straight and unbroken. "I created him. I could do so again."

"You could," Crowley admitted. "But he wouldn't be the Death you know. He wouldn't have the same experiences or the same character. No matter how perfectly you recreate him, there will always be something missing. Maybe a joke of yours he wouldn't understand. A slightly different intonation of words. A gesture that would lose its meaning.

"If there is one universal truth about immortals, then it is the fact that you all crave companionship. God is gone. Death is the only thing you have left of those who truly understand what it is like. You could escape. You probably should. But you won´t. Eternity is an awfully long time to spend alone." The demon smirked at him, his eyes turning red and completely devoid of any emotions.

Oh, how Harry hated the demon in this moment. Because everything he said rang true. Death was his creation – his only one – and he wouldn't allow anyone to destroy him, least of all some abomination from Hell. He couldn't lose the being that had stood by his side since nearly the beginning of everything and had weathered every storm together with him. Chuck was also his companion, true, but Death was different. Harry had created him, had taught him, and had given him a purpose. Chuck was his equal, but Death was  _his_. And for the first time in his eternal life, Harry learned firsthand why Lily Potter had not stepped aside on the fateful night that Halloween 1981.

"There is no need to resort to threats," Harry said, defeated, and he hated the victorious gleam that entered the demon´s eyes. How empowered he must feel, to have the Master of Death bowing to his demands.

This time when the tendrils emerged, Harry did not fight them. He allowed them to wrap themselves around his power – his core – where they settled like parasites, sapping away all his might. But Crowley was a fool if he believed that Harry would not try to spoil his plans as far as he could. He looked at Death. The old man stared back at him and, as if he could somehow predict what Harry was about to do, he nodded. Without hesitation, Harry pushed forward all his powers that the tendrils had not latched onto.

The barrier surrounding them was weakened by the power it had given up in order to form the tendrils and so it shattered when – like a powerful lance – Harry´s power thrust against it. Harry could feel his strength slowly weakening as unbearable pain began to crawl up his legs and arms until it felt as if his whole body had been set aflame. It wasn't much, but it was enough to significantly weaken Harry. And he gave the power all to Death. The being would was the only one he trusted to not abuse it. And he would need it in the future.

The power abated; the ritual ended. The Master of Death was bound. No one moved.

"It didn't work," Castiel was the first one to break the silence. "I don´t feel it." And from his expression, neither did Crowley.

"You stupid, ignorant fools," a female voice crowed from behind. Harry turned around and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw Eve standing there, bereft of any chains.

"The ritual wasn't to bind the Master of Death to you." She strode forwards until she stood in front of Harry. Her fingers curled around his chin and she lifted his head up, forcing Harry to look into her eyes.

"It was to bind him to me," she continued, and the smile that appeared on her face was full of viciousness and malice. "Welcome to my brave new world. We will have so much fun together."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes the second arc. Now onwards to explanations: 
> 
> Some reviewers mentioned it, so I’ll make it clear: The Ritual has nothing to do with Chuck! Eve ate the Apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Within these Apple was contained some of the power and knowledge of Chuck which at first Eve used to create her ‘children’. When Harry imprisoned her in Purgatory Eve used this power and knowledge to device a ritual that would bind the MoD to her as part of her revenge. Due to the fact that Eve still had some sort of connection to her children, pieces of the Ritual could be found within the Alpha’s mind, thus Crowley and Castiel’s hunt for them. 
> 
> Eve’s ritual would not have worked if Harry had resisted it as it was described above. Eve is not God and the power and knowledge she gained from the Apple was only a small piece of what either Harry or God possessed. But Harry willingly allowed the ritual to happen in order to safe Death from annihilation, hence it worked. 
> 
> I needed the Ritual to work in order to set up the storyline for the next arc and in my opinion this was the right balance between making Harry neither too weak or too strong. 
> 
> Updates: I have not written down a single word for the next part of the story. I will continue it, of course, but I don’t know when you’ll will be able to read the next part. Last time I needed 4 months to write Arc II and my beta-reader needed another 4 months to correct it. So maybe – if you’re really, really lucky – the next part will be published this year. But it will probably be in late spring 2016. Sorry!


End file.
